Gain Control Again
by Dame Flame
Summary: Three months ago, he lost his name, his identity...everything. Three months ago, they thought that they lost him. Now, they've found him, but he has to find himself. (Complete)
1. Chapter One

Title- Gain Control Again

Authors- Dame Flame and pepsicolagurl

Rating- Uh...we'll call it PG13 for now.

Disclaimer-We dare you to sue. The only thing we own of value are our cigarettes, and pepsicolagurl'scan of Coke. That's what's keeping me going as I write this. We took the title and lyrics from the Blue Rodeo song, "Til I Gain Control Again"

Author's Notes- (from Dame Flame, because this is my first story). BIG thanks to pepsicolagurl for all of her help, guidance, and friendship over the years. I've been with her since she completed her first fan fiction story (dude, Brooklyn and her "misadventures" were so long ago), and now we've come to this point. And now, even through everything that's happening in real life (and I hope that your grandma gets better soon), you're still there. I love you for it. And remember, we changed the events from "Lost Son", as in what happened at the jewelry store. Everyone else, enjoy and let us know what you think.

Thanks- to an online spellcheck, because we both suck, and don't have Microsoft Word on our computers. Long live Wordpad!

Spoilers- From Lost Son on. You'll understand.

* * *

Gain Control Again  
Chapter One

_And like a lighthouse you must stand alone  
__Landmark a safe's journey's end  
__No matter what sea I've been sailing on  
__I'll always come back home again_

_Out on the road that lies before me now  
__There are some turns where I will spin  
__I only hope that you can hold me now  
__'Til I gain control again_

* * *

She called him Marshall.

When he had first come there to stay at his house, she had taken to calling him Marshall, because he didn't know or couldn't remember his name. She had once had a son named Marshall, but he had either died or disappeared. Either way, her son wasn't around, but now, he was. He was kind and gentle with the old woman, making sure of her comfort at all times. He took care of her little garden in the front of her yard, he cooked meals for her when she allowed him into the kitchen, and he cleaned the house from top to bottom.

There was something wrong, however. Something that nagged him day and night. The doctors had told him that maybe, one day, when he wasn't trying, when he least expected it, he would remember. It might come in little bits and pieces, no more than flashes of memories. Or it might come all at once and overwhelm him.

They had done everything that they could for him in the hospital, but they couldn't explain what had happened, either. It had been a busy day, they had been overflowing with patients, and somehow, they had lost his chart and all of his personal effects. They didn't know who he was, either. There were no clues to who he was, who he had been. The doctors, and the woman, had suggested going to the police station and having them run his fingerprints through some sort of computer, but he begged off, saying that he didn't need that, he would remember. And besides, there was something that was telling him NOT to go to a police station until this was all cleared up.

"Marshall?" he heard the woman call, and he turned immediately on his heel, leaving the open newspaper on the kitchen counter, next to his almost cold cup of coffee. He peeked his head into the living room, where she was tucked into her favorite chair in front of the television. "Marshall, could you make me a cup of tea?" she asked.

He grinned, and for some reason, the movement felt strange. Like he didn't do it much before. Was that some sort of clue about his past? "Of course, Mary. I'll have it for you in just a second." He left her to her soap opera and went back into the kitchen, starting up the electric kettle on the counter. He sipped his coffee and made a face, dumping the dregs down the drain. Did he even like coffee, he wondered, pouring himself a glass of iced tea instead. As much as he liked Mary, and owed her more than he could ever imagine for letting him stay with her, she made her iced tea awfully sweet.

The water still had awhile to boil, and while he waited, he took a lemon out of the fridge and placed it on the counter, rolling it with the palm of his hand, pushing it down slowly. Where did he learn that, he wanted to know. He knew that it would make the juices in the lemon more apparent, but someone had taught him that, and he didn't remember who anymore. Shaking off the thought, he picked a knife out of the wooden block and carefully rested it against the citrus fruit, using his free hand to steady it. He sawed the knife back and forth slowly, never noticing how close he was coming to his fingers, until the knife slid through his skin, causing him to jerk back in surprise.

As he made his way to the sink, he noticed a single blood drop on the counter.

_(get a swab)_

And what the hell did that thought mean?

His eyes were trained on the single drop of crimson, when another slid down his finger and landed near the first. He was enthralled by it, for some ungodly reason. It was blood, nothing more, nothing less. His blood. He cut his finger, there was nothing fascinating about that.

_(drip pattern)_

It was just like hearing voices in his head, he reasoned, only this was the voice of his past, or someone that had to do with his past. He ignored it, just like always, and turned on the tap, sticking his finger underneath. He watched the blood disappear before he patted it dry with a towel and applied a bandage from a nearby drawer. The kettle began to shriek beside him, and he went about making his landlady's tea.

Maybe he was a meteorologist, he reasoned. Wouldn't that have something to do with a drip pattern? For some reason, that brought a smile to his face.

* * *

Had it really been that long, she wondered, turning to look at the calendar in the break room. Yes, it had been. Three months since the incident at the jewelry store, three months since he was alive and then suddenly dead in the hospital, three months since the funeral. It seemed so long, and yet, not all that long ago.

She smiled over her coffee cup at the young man sitting at the table, his eyes barely open. Tim Speedle's replacement (and really, that was the only way to think of him) still hadn't gotten used to the long shifts and early wake-up calls. Those almost closed eyes were puffy, his hair looked...well, messy would be the best word, she supposed, and the clothes that he was wearing looked awfully familiar. In fact, they were the same ones that he had been wearing the day before. "Ryan?" she asked quietly, watching the young man swing his head in her direction. "You know, there's a reason why most people keep a change of clothes in their locker."

"This is my change of clothes, believe it or not," Ryan Wolfe told her, a hint of a smile creeping onto his face. He watched as she turned around and poured another cup of coffee, handing it off to him. "Thanks," he said, although his word was interrupted halfway through with a yawn.

"Not a problem," she answered, sipping her own coffee. She watched as he slumped down on his elbow and stuck his face over the cup, inhaling the coffee until it was cool enough for him to drink. She still wasn't used to the new addition to the lab, although she was getting better about it. It had been a hell of a shock the first time that she had walked into the trace lab and seen the lab coat covered back turned towards her, head bowed over something. She had almost said good morning to Speedle, before she realized that it couldn't be him. It had been Ryan, of course, and when he had turned to look at her, he had known what she was about to say, and only offered a brief smile.

The poor kid was probably sick of that, but there was no way around it. He had been good about it, they all had to admit to that. To this day, no one had had the heart to take Speedle's old locker, even though his name had been removed from it. Ryan, himself, had taken one that was broken and fixed the door and lock himself. Speedle's locker was bare, everything that had been in there was taken away and sent to his parents.

She broke out of her reverie when the door to the break room opened, and two equally tired people walked in. They had been called in, early in the morning, to work on a gang shooting, extending their shift to almost match that of the graveyard crew. After only a few hours of sleep, they were back at it. Neither of the men hid the exhaustion well, however. "Morning, guys," she said, smiling at them, as the younger man made a beeline for the coffee maker.

"We have a new case, and I want everyone on it," was the greeting that she got. They stifled their smiles and gathered closer to the table that Ryan was sitting at. "Three people have brought this to the attention of the police, and we've been asked to look into it. It'll be a nice break from homicides," he added, hoping that it would wake them up a little. It did, but barely. "It's a missing persons case, a somewhat old one." The enthusiasm died.

They all knew the horrors of working a missing persons case, especially one that had been open for awhile. A lot of dead-ends, talking to uncooperative people, and hours in front of a computer screen, scrolling through useless information. The chances of finding someone after a period of more than week was slim to none, and by now, they would be looking for a body, not a person. It was never much fun, not that their job was supposed to be fun.

"Three missing people, actually, and that's why I need all of you. There might even be more." Eyebrows were raised, looks passed from person to person. Maybe this would interesting after all. "At separate times, three people have been taken to Jackson Memorial, and three times, they've lost their patients."

"Wait, lost them? What, put them in the wrong room or something?" Eric Delko asked, drumming his fingers along the side of his coffee cup.

"Lost them, as in lost them. Personal effects, records, medical files. All three times, the families were directed to other patients, and when the real patient couldn't be found, they had 'died', according to the hospital. However, two of the people lodging the complaint haven't had access to their loved ones body, because they can't find the body."

Calleigh's face showed the horror and disgust at their supervisor's words. "You mean...they literally lost people and have done nothing to rectify it?"

Horatio Caine smiled, but it was humorless. "They've offered money."

"That's even more wrong."

"Be that as it may, it's now our case. And this is what we're going to do. Calleigh, Ryan, I want you to go talk to the three families that brought this to our attention. Get all the information that you can from them. Eric and I will go to the hospital, see if we can get the medical records, talk to the nurses and doctors. In essence, there's no crime scene to process, but that doesn't mean that this isn't a crime. Treat it as one."

They nodded and dumped out the remains of their coffee, heading towards the garage without a word. Horatio passed over the list of addresses for Calleigh and Ryan before they climbed into one of the Hummers and pulled out immediately. Ryan was quiet for a few moments, but he couldn't resist asking the question that had been gnawing at him ever since Horatio had mentioned the name of the hospital. "Was Jackson Memorial where..." he began, and then trailed off, unsure of how to continue.

She nodded, turning the corner. "Yeah, that's where they took him." She chanced a look at him from the corner of her eye, and smiled suddenly. "Don't get that look on your face. It's taken us all awhile to realize it, but Tim was Tim, and you're you. Two completely different people. It's hard for you, isn't it?"

He shrugged. "Kind of," he answered frankly. "It just seems that...everyone knew him, everyone liked him. It's like he could do no wrong or something. And then, I come along and everything goes to hell in a hand basket. But I've gotten used to it. Some of it," he amended when he saw her look.

"What have you had to get used to? Look, I realize that it hasn't been easy on you, and we weren't really helping matters much, but we have been trying."

"I know. It's just...the looks that you get from certain people." Alexx, he had wanted to say, but didn't have the heart to. He could tell that Alexx Woods and Tim Speedle had been close in some way, and having Ryan come in suddenly, that soon, didn't sit well with her, but there was nothing that he could do about it. He tried, Lord knows that he did, but nothing seemed to help when it came to her. "It's okay, I know it'll go away after awhile, but for now, I just deal with it."

She smiled briefly, before pulling into a driveway, behind a sporty little compact. "I'm sorry," she said, but who she was apologizing for, and why, she didn't know.


	2. Chapter Two

Title- Gain Control Again

Authors - Dame Flame and pepsicolagurl

Rating- PG13 for language, situations

Disclaimer- See Chapter One.

Author's Note- Have you figured out who "Marshall" is it? Enjoy and let us know what you think!

Spoilers- Lost Son on.

* * *

Gain Control Again  
Chapter Two

_And like a lighthouse you must stand alone  
__Landmark a safe journey's end  
__No matter what sea I've been sailing on  
__I'll always come back home again_

_Out on the road that lies before me  
__There are some turns where I will spin  
__I only hope that you can hold me now  
__'Til I gain control again_

* * *

Ryan Wolfe yawned as they pulled into the third and final driveway. "This is the last one?" he asked, rubbing his eyes as the engine was shut off.

"This is the last one," Calleigh repeated, opening her door and slipping out from the driver's seat, closing the door behind her. Ryan followed behind as they made their way up to the door and knocked, waiting for someone to let them in. As soon as it was open, a young woman peeked out at the two of them. Calleigh immediately smiled and raised her badge and identification. "Hi, I'm Calleigh Duquense, and this is Ryan Wolfe. We're both with the Miami-Dade crime lab."

The woman smiled in return. "Of course, please come in." She opened the door for them to enter, at the same time, pushing back an over-excited golden retriever puppy. "Practice baby," she said, when Ryan stooped to rub the dog's head.

"Congratulations," the blonde criminalist said as they were guided to the kitchen. They both accepted the offer of coffee and waited until the woman had finished bustling around and was sitting in front of them. "Mrs. O'Reilly, we understand that your father was in Jackson Memorial in June, correct?"

The woman nodded, and a faint blush came to her cheeks. "Yes, he was. I got a call from the hospital two days after he was admitted. They said that he had been shot." She sighed, and bit her lip, looking away. "Look, I'm not trying to make excuses or anything, but my father was homeless. I know that it probably sounds horrible, what with me living in this house and all, but my husband and I did try to convince him to stay with us. He wouldn't. He said that he lost his job, and he was going to get through this himself. He didn't want help. I just...I can't help wondering..."

When she didn't say anything else, Ryan prompted her. "What is it?" he asked. "We're not here to judge you, Mrs. O'Reilly. That's not our job. Our job is to look at the evidence and try to figure out what happened."

She smiled weakly. "I can't help wondering that if he wasn't homeless, if he had been living with us, this whole problem at the hospital wouldn't have happened. When I did get the call, and went down there to see him...they took me to someone else's room. I didn't know who the young man was, but he certainly wasn't my father."

"I imagine that you asked someone at the hospital about what happened?" Calleigh asked, sipping her coffee.

"Asked? No. I screamed, yelled, and created a nuisance. I blamed it on the hormones." She settled a hand on her bulging stomach. "I wasn't exactly polite about it. Whoever that poor man was, his family didn't know that he was there. When I asked if they had just put him in the same room, the person I was talking to had the nerve to just shrug and say, 'I don't know'. To tell you the truth, I was disgusted."

Ryan frowned. "Did they give you any information on your father, what had happened to him, anything like that?"

She sighed. "Yes and no. They told me that he had been shot. But they also told me that there were an awful lot of gunshot victims coming in that day, including a police officer, and they just couldn't keep up with all of them." Neither of them noticed how Calleigh's face paled slightly for a moment at the mention of an officer involved shooting. "I know that Jackson Memorial is a big hospital, but that doesn't excuse them from making mistakes like this."

"What happened when you asked where he was?"

"They said that they would look into it, but if he wasn't in that room, most likely, he had died, and I should call the morgue to find out, or maybe other hospitals. I didn't bother listening to whatever else they had to say. I stormed out of there and came back here. I've called the hospital a few times, even talked to the president or...whatever you call him, the person that runs the hospital. He's gone as far as offering money now, but I refused to take it. I just want to know what happened to my father."

Calleigh nodded. "Why did you wait so long in contacting the police? Or did you call the morgue beforehand?" If that were true, there might have been some sort of record of the call, she thought to herself.

"I just couldn't believe it. And I know my father. He never liked hospitals. As soon as he would be able to stand, he would have left. My husband went around to all the shelters, any place that he would have stayed. We called all the cheap motels, even called the police stations, to see if they could have put him in there, but it's like he just disappeared. My husband and I talked it over, and we decided to call yesterday. They told us that they would look into it, and now, you're here."

The mood was a little too heavy for Ryan's liking, and he couldn't help chancing a small joke. "I don't suppose your husband's friends call him Radar, do they?"

The woman smiled, even laughing a little. "Yes, they do. I have to admit, I never knew the reference to the name, until a year after we were married. He doesn't look a thing like him, however." She looked over at the front door when the dog started to bark. "He does that whenever someone drives by. We're still trying to break him of that habit. Uh...if you don't mind me asking, what happens now? Some...lieutenant already called to get my permission to obtain my father's medical records."

"That would have been Lieutenant Caine. He's our supervisor at the lab," Calleigh explained. "We'll begin with questioning the hospital staff, but of course, we don't expect much from them, if they were that busy. I don't want to discourage you, but with a missing persons case like this, we can't expect very much. The only evidence that we'll have to go on is statements, and those aren't as reliable as most people think."

"Would it have made a difference if I had called earlier than this?"

Calleigh shook her head. "No, I don't think so. We'll do everything that we can, Mrs. O'Reilly, but I don't want you to get your hopes up. Unfortunately, you may never know what happens, but when we've exhausted every possibility, we'll go through them again, just to make sure that we didn't miss anything."

"Thank you."

* * *

He had finished mowing the lawn, and had even taken a shower to rid himself of the sweat that had collected on him under the hot Miami sun. His hair was still damp when he went into the living room, to check on Mary. She was dozing in front of the television, the screen playing on of her judge shows. He smiled and was about to leave her, when a commercial came on, and was interrupted by a breaking news story.

He paused and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "We have just been informed that Jackson Memorial has come under investigation, through the Miami-Dade crime lab-"

_(god, that sounds familiar)_

"Apparently, from May of this year until the present, a number of patients have been registered under the wrong name, or simply disappeared. A number of families-"

_(get the statements. hate getting statements like that)_

"As of now, there are three missing patients." The names and pictures of each person were flashed across the screen. As that happened, Mary stirred in her chair and looked towards the television, listening to the story as she struggled out of her sleep. They repeated the same thing again, and then went back to her show.

"Marshall?" she began. He knew what she was going to say.

"I know," he said simply.

She looked at him, even going as far as muting the television. That was a rarity in itself. "I think that you should call."

He wanted to say no. He knew that he was stubborn, and he wanted to figure all of this out of himself, but he couldn't help wondering if he did have family in Miami, and they were worried about him. Or friends. He must ,at the very least, have friends out here. He knew the area, so there was no doubt that he lived there for awhile. He probably had a job, a place to live, a life. He wasn't married. There was no ring, and no tan line if a ring had been there before. But someone, out there somewhere in Miami, probably did care for him. "Yeah, it sounds like a good idea. The only thing is, you've been so good to me, Mary. I'm not sure if I want that to end just yet."

She smiled, and it was the answer that he needed. He nodded and went into the guest room, the room that he stayed in, where there was a phone. He picked it up and his fingers hovered above the buttons for a moment. It was almost like his brain was trying to tell him what numbers to press, when he didn't remember the number.

_(call H, he'll know what to do)_

"Stop it," he muttered to himself, and dialed for the operator instead. He asked for the number for the Miami-Dade crime lab, and waited for the operator to connect him to that number. He tapped a foot on the ground, impatient for someone to pick up, so that he could get this over with. A young woman picked up the phone and for a moment, he could have sworn that he knew that voice, but the feeling was gone before he really realized what it had meant. "Yes, I was wondering if I could talk to the person who's running the investigation on Jackson Memorial. I think I might have some information about that."

It was a long while before the woman spoke again, and he could hear confusion in her voice, maybe hesitancy. "Of course, just a moment," she said softly. He frowned as he was put on hold, and began to tap his foot again. Why was he so damned anxious about this? There was no reason for it. He was about to get the answers that he had struggled with for the past few months.

A good five minutes passed before someone else picked up the phone, and again, he recognized the voice, but didn't know why. "Lieutenant Caine." This time it was a man.

_(got your results, H)_

"I...uh...think that I have some information about what's happening at Jackson Memorial," he began. "I just saw a news story about it, and they mentioned some names and some pictures. I don't know any of those people, but I think there might be one more person that's missing. Me."

Again, silence. What was it with these people, he wondered. "What makes you think so?" the voice asked him, and now, it wasn't confusion hidden in the tone, but some sort of emotion.

"I was a patient there in June. I had been shot in the chest, and when I woke up, they couldn't tell me who I was. They didn't have any medical files on me, my clothes and wallet were gone, and to tell the truth, I don't even know who I am." He bit his lip. God, that sounded like he was making it up.

"Where are you?" the voice rasped. Yeah, there was some sort of emotion there. He recited the address of Mary's house from memory. "Someone will be there within the hour." And the other voice hung up.

Very slowly, he put the phone down and sighed.

He was going to get his answers now.


	3. Chapter Three

Title- Gain Control Again

Authors- Dame Flame and pepsicolagurl

Rating- PG13 for language, situations

Disclaimer- See Chapter One.

Author's Notes- Enjoy and let us know what you think.

Spoilers- from Lost Son on.

* * *

Gain Control Again  
Chapter Three

_And like a lighthouse you must stand alone  
__Landmark a safe journey's end  
__No matter what sea I've been sailing on  
__I'll always come back home again_

_Out on the road that lies before me now  
__There are some turns where I will spin  
__I only hope that you can hold me now  
__'Til I gain control again_

* * *

Horatio waited until all of them were in the vehicle and he had pulled away, to give them any information. "What's this all about? You had use running out of their like our asses were on fire," Eric said from the back, peeking his head between the front seats. The redhead didn't bother commenting, but he found it ironic that the young man had used a phrase that Speedle himself had used quite often, whenever he had felt rushed by Horatio. He flashed back to the many times he had asked for something from Speedle, and how he had bowed his head, muttering something about how his ass was being lit on fire to make him move quicker. It would have brought a smile to his face, if this wasn't so serious.

"I got a call from someone that think they should be included on the Jackson Memorial missing persons list," he explained. "And I think we all need to go out there to meet with him."

"Why?" Ryan asked, from beside Eric. "Couldn't two of us handled this?"

"Yes, but I don't think that this is a normal case situation," Horatio answered. "Because I think...I think we may know this person."

The three investigators looked at each other, their faces showing their confusion. It had only been twenty minutes ago, when they had all been rounded up. Calleigh had been the first person that he had found, and Horatio had all but grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her along as he hunted out the two young men. He hadn't said a word to any of them, other than the fact that it had something to do with the case, it was an emergency, and they had to leave at that moment. "We know this person? How? Someone in an old case of ours?" Calleigh asked.

As they stopped at a red light, Horatio turned to look at her, sunglasses covering his eyes. "No. Someone that we worked with." He chuckled ruefully as he looked away. "I know that it sounds impossible, but I could have sworn that it was his voice. It sounded just like him, only he talked more than he normally did. He rambled." His next words came out even quieter, barely audible above the sound of the engine. "And I don't think I could have gone alone after that call."

"Who are you talking about?" she persisted.

The answer shook them all. "Tim Speedle." Again, he chuckled. No humor in it. "Twenty minutes ago, a call was transferred up to me from the front desk. It was from a man that said he had information about what was happening with our investigation at Jackson Memorial. He said that he had been shot in the chest, and when he came to in the hospital, he had no personal effects, and they didn't know who he was. He doesn't know who he is. I never got his name, but I would swear on my life that it was his voice."

Silence filled the vehicle as they all processed the thought. It was Ryan who spoke up, however. "Are you sure it was him, or could it just be someone that sounds like him? I know that it sounds like it could be him, but...there was a funeral and everything."

"Then someone else is buried under his name."

They never spoke a word for the rest of the ride, although they were all lost in their own thoughts. Ryan couldn't figure out why he was brought along. To begin with, he had never known Tim Speedle. Yes, he knew who he was, and he had seen the picture of him that was hanging on the wall with all the other officers that had been killed in the line of duty, but if it was like Horatio thought, if it was Tim Speedle, then he had no business being there. He was his replacement, he had never known the man.

Everyone in the vehicle was apprehensive when they pulled up to the small house. There was no car in the driveway, and there was no garage. They could see one of the curtains in the living room fluttering when they climbed out of the vehicle and started towards the front porch. The door was opened as soon as Calleigh pressed the button for the doorbell, and their reactions were all the same, with the exception of Ryan Wolfe.

White faces.

Wide eyes.

Silence.

They all examined the man standing in the doorway. There was no trace of stubble on his face, and his hair was cut shorter than they had seen before, but it looked like him. It was his six foot frame, his body clothed in a dark blue tee shirt and equally dark jeans, his brown eyes staring back at them. "When you said someone would be here, I didn't think you meant this many," the man said, trying to break the silence.

It was Calleigh that responded first. "Tim?" she whispered, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. It hovered over her eyes for a moment, and then went back down to her mouth.

The man shrugged. "If you mean me, I have no idea. I don't know what my name is." They all heard the voice behind him. "But she calls me Marshall." He opened the door wider and motioned for all of them to come in. "There's no reason for everyone to stand out there. Besides, Mary wants you in the living room." They all filed in, and followed him into the living room, where the old woman was sitting in her chair. They took their seats when she motioned for them to sit, but they couldn't take their eyes off of the man who stood beside her. "Do you know me?" he asked.

Calleigh nodded, being the only one that managed to speak. "Your name is Tim Speedle. Do you...do you recognize it?"

He thought for a moment, and then shook his head. "No. It sounds familiar, but I don't know if that's me or someone else. Like I said, everyone calls me Marshall right now. Mary's the one who gave me the name."

"How did the two of you meet?" she asked softly.

Mary took over, smiling at the blonde woman. "I had a little problem with my blood sugar, so they took me to the hospital. They were short of beds, so they put me in his room for half the day, before moving me across the hallway. He was such a dear, and so confused. Did you know, the doctors couldn't even tell him who he was? They lost his file, they said. Blamed it on some...student doctor. He came to visit me every day when I was in there, and when we were both released, I told him that he could stay with me. He had nowhere else to go, and no one ever showed up to see him." She frowned. "Are you sure he's who you say he is?"

"There's one way to find out," Ryan spoke up, surprising everyone. "We could take his fingerprints, run them through the department's database when we get back to the lab. DNA would take too long to come back, and I don't know if he has a sample in the system or not."

"No," the man answered automatically, and then shook his head with a frown. "I don't know how I know that, but I do. How long would it take for the fingerprint match to come back?"

Ryan shrugged. "Five minutes after I put them in the computer. They would be put into the system under John Doe, and I would set the program to match them against Tim Speedle's prints only. Altogether, if you add in the time to take your prints, get them back to the lab...I'd say forty minutes to an hour. You'd know for sure then."

"Let's do it, then." He watched as Ryan left the house and went out to get his field kit. "So, you all know me, right? I mean, that's what you're telling me."

"We've all worked together for almost four years. Except for Ryan. He's your...replacement," Calleigh explained. "You worked for the Miami-Dade crime lab. Your specialty was trace analysis. You don't remember any of this?" He shrugged and motioned for her to go on. "You own a motorcycle, you live alone. God, I don't even know what to tell you. This is surreal. It's impossible. We had a funeral for you. We buried someone under a headstone with your name on it."

The man paled. "What, you mean, you thought I died? How? What happened?"

It was Horatio that began to speak, and the man recognized his voice as the one over the phone. "We were working on a missing persons case, a different missing persons case. A child had been kidnapped and was being held for ransom. The father was killed after the people involved realized that the jewelry he had given them for the ransom was fake. We...that is, you and I, went to the jewelry store that cleaned them, and...you saw someone move in a room behind the counter. You pulled your weapon, tried to fire, and it...it malfunctioned. You were shot in the chest. An ambulance took you to Jackson Memorial. We found the kid, and at the end of the night, when we went down to the hospital, we were informed that you had died before they had gotten you into surgery. Your parents didn't want an autopsy to be performed on your body, so instead, your body was sent to the funeral home, and all we saw after that was the casket."

By then, Ryan had returned with his kit, and had removed everything he needed to print the man. Everyone fell silent and watched as the process took place, the young man promising to get the results back to them as soon as possible, taking the keys to the Hummer from Horatio. When he left, the man turned his eyes towards the door. "So, is he a good replacement for me?" he asked humorously, and then stopped laughing when he saw the look on everyone's faces. "I guess that was the wrong thing to say. Do you mind if I ask...how did my...gun malfunction? Obviously, I don't remember a thing about what happened."

They let Calleigh field the question, since she had been the one to process his weapon. "You had a history of not cleaning it. It happened once before, and you were shot, but you were wearing a vest. You just had the wind knocked out of that time. There was no reason for you to wear a vest that last time, so..." She trailed off, uncertain of how to continue.

No one knew how to continue.

* * *

The print-out was on the seat next to him as he pulled into the driveway again. He shut off the engine, but didn't get out of the vehicle for a moment. Instead, he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, allowing all of the day's events to fully catch up with him. If Ryan was asked, he would honestly say that he didn't know what he was feeling at the moment. The entire time that he worked for the crime lab, and it honestly hadn't been that long, he had known, without a shadow of a doubt, that Tim Speedle was dead. Everyone knew that. It was the only reason that Ryan was there, the only reason that he had gotten the job. The lab was seriously under-funded at the moment, and still was. There just wasn't enough resources for all the investigators that they needed.

Was it inconsiderate of him to be worried about his job? He never knew Tim Speedle, only knew about him because of the people he worked with. But the moment that his memory came back, and he remembered what he did for a living...where did that leave the newest addition to the lab? Back in uniform, back in patrol?

He shook his head and sighed, picking up the print-out and letting himself out of the vehicle. The front door was still open, and he didn't bother knocking before entering the house. He could hear everyone asking the once nameless man about everything that happened in the hospital, but the conversation was stopped when they saw Ryan standing in the doorway, a weak smile on his face, the print-out dangling from one hand. With everyone's eyes on him, he spoke.

"With ninety nine percent accuracy, there's no doubt that you're Detective Timothy R. Speedle."


	4. Chapter Four

Title- Gain Control Again

Authors- Dame Flame and pepsicolagurl

Rating- PG13 for now.

Disclaimer- See Chapter One.

Author's Notes- Trust us, the story is far from being over. Enjoy, and let us know what you think.

Thanks- To everyone that reviewed. We really appreciate it. And to **adpi24**, we're still fighting over if we're going to turn this into a 'shipper fiction, and whether it's going to be Horatio and Calleigh, or Speedle and Calleigh. This is what happens when you put two different writers with two different ideas together. We'll see. This story is going to be awfully twisted.

**JosiahGirl**- You brought up an interesting point about why Speedle's parents wouldn't recognize him. We had already mentioned that his parents hadn't wanted an autopsy to be performed on his body, and how it wasn't an open casket funeral (more implied than anything, when they told him that they were told that he had died in surgery, and the only thing they saw of him after that was the casket), but you called us on it, so we racked our brains to come up with reasons why no one realized that it wasn't Speedle in the casket. Thanks for making us think! It's always nice to get the brain going again. And as to your comment about it being borderline hard to believe, it wasn't supposed to be completely plausible. We researched the medical part of it, but we don't even believe that this could happen. Not all fan fiction is based on fact, that's something that we've come to understand. Other than this being just another way to keep Tim Speedle alive, we wanted an opportunity to work together on a story. Please don't take this the wrong way. We're not ranting, we just wanted to point out a few things. Remember, not everything in life is plausible, either.

**nonnie**- We love the running commentary. Seriously. Never stop. We were cracking up together, when we were talking on MSN. Would it be wrong of us to beg you to keep up with them? We wrote this, but it's great to read your reactions to certain lines.

* * *

  
Gain Control Again  
Chapter Four

_And like a lighthouse you must stand alone  
__Landmark a safe journey's end  
__No matter what sea I've been sailing on  
__I'll always come back home again_

_Out on the road that lies before me now  
__There are some turns where I will spin  
__I only hope that you can hold me now  
__'Til I gain control again_

* * *

The room was stunned into silence for all of thirty seconds, before Ryan looked at Tim Speedle. "Why didn't you go to the police? This would have been cleared up in no time. Or, for that matter, why didn't the hospital contact the police?"

"Because he's stubborn. He always has been, and he always will be," Calleigh whispered from the couch, refusing to take her eyes off of Speedle.

"I guess she's right. I mean, I know I'm stubborn now, but I don't know about before. I suppose I was. As for the hospital, I don't think they wanted to own up to their own mistake. They were the one that lost my files. If they contacted the police, there would have been a record about it, and I could have sued them for millions. They probably didn't want that." He smirked, and for the first time, he looked like the Tim Speedle of old. "I wanted to figure it out on my own, but Mary saw the news break today, and said that I should call. I owe it to her, for all she's done for me." The old woman looked up at him and smiled.

Her voice was sad when she spoke. "I guess I can't call you Marshall anymore."

He grinned back down at her. It was strange for everyone else to see; they had never really seen him grin before. "You can call me whatever you want. If you want to call me Marshall, I'll answer to Marshall." They exchanged smiles, but looked away from each other when they heard someone sniffle.

Calleigh sat there, tears rolling down her face as she looked towards him. "I'm sorry," she began, her voice choked with her tears. "I'm sorry, but this is just ridiculous. I was there when they took you away in the ambulance, I was there when they told us that you didn't make it. I was there when they buried you. I was there when your mother was crying so hard, she almost had to be sedated. And now, for you to just stand there in front of us...I just don't understand any of this," she finished in a whisper, shaking her head.

No one moved towards her at first, but Speedle took the initiative, walking over to her, and kneeling in front of her. "Look, I'd apologize for everything that I've put you through, all of you, but I didn't know. I didn't know that there were people out there that knew me. I've been living in a fog for the past few months, but if it's any consolation, I really wish I could remember all of this."

She smiled briefly as he wiped away her tears. "You may be Tim Speedle in name, but you're not the same person you used to be."

"Is that good or bad?" he asked.

"I don't know yet." She gave him a slight shrug. "The Tim Speedle that I know rarely smiled, rarely touched anymore, hid behind sarcasm. You're completely different from that Tim Speedle."

He smiled, brown eyes brightening. "Well, you've got a leg up on me, because I don't remember Tim Speedle at all. I get little flashes, almost like a voice in my head that tells me certain things that I don't understand. I get sidetracked by the strangest things." He looked at the bandage on his finger. "I spent a few minutes looking at a blood drop on the counter. It makes sense now, but before you told me what I used to do...I just thought that I was going nuts." He stood up and backed away, looking at the assembled group. "I just have one question: who the hell is H?"

Horatio looked at him, surprise written on his face. "I am."

Speedle nodded. "I kept thinking about that nickname, over and over. Especially when you picked up the phone earlier. I had some sort of recognition, some sort of reaction, to your voice, but that's all it brought to mind."

"That's what you usually called me. Almost everyone calls me that." He smiled, ducked his head for a moment. "You were the one that started calling me that, in fact. You said that my name was too long, and when you had test results, or information for me, you didn't want to waste any time."

"At least I did something useful with my life," he deadpanned. He turned to look at Eric Delko, silent throughout the entire exchange. He hadn't spoken a word since they had been driving to the house. "You okay, or do you usually not talk?"

Eric raised his eyes to meet Speedle's, still surprised to see the man staring back at him. "I was just beginning to accept the fact that you were gone, and now you're here. It's just kind of...strange. I need some time. That's all."

"Completely understandable. If I were in your position, I'd probably be acting the same way." He shook his head with a slight frown. It was an expression that was very clearly Tim Speedle. It was the expression that they were most used to seeing when it came to him. "I'm having trouble wrapping my head around this. It's strange for me. I mean, I knew that I had another life beyond what's happened for the past few months, but it's hard to realize that it's actually here, you know? I was used to the fact that I didn't know what my real name was. I was used to going on with my life the way I have been. But this brings up an interesting question, one that you've brought up already? Who the hell is buried in Tim Speedle's grave?"

* * *

It had been a quiet day in autopsy until the phone call.

There had only been two bodies to post, and neither of them were complicated. One, a natural but unattended death, was already waiting for a funeral home pick-up, the other put aside until further test results came back. Alexx had parked herself in the small office off of the autopsy theater, searching through the computer files that would potentially match those missing bodies from the hospital. She was used to the silence, even enjoyed it at times, so when the phone rang, it was no surprise that she jumped in her chair before she realized what the noise really was.

She picked up the receiver after releasing her hold on the computer mouse. "Alexx Woods."

"Alexx, it's Horatio. I need a favor."

Leaning back in the desk chair, she nodded. "Sure. It's slow here. What do you need?"

"An exhumation order."

"Not so slow anymore," she shot back. "Okay, what's the name, and where's the body?" When he didn't answer her right away, she frowned. "Horatio, are you still there?"

The reply was slow in coming. "Yes, I'm still here. I know that this is going to sound strange, and believe me, it is, but I need you to get an court order to exhume the body of Timothy R. Speedle." When she didn't say anything, only say there in stunned silence, he continued, voice low. "Please, Alexx, trust me on this one. Trust me. I need this done as soon as possible. If you have any problems, call me back. But please, get this done."

"I'll need to get a release form signed by you, and by someone from his family. Then push it through to a judge. You do know how complicated this is, don't you?"

He sighed, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice. "All right, this is how we're going to do this. Whatever you do, don't call his family. Don't mention this at all. Meet me near the loading bay in half an hour. I'll have your signatures for you."

"Horatio, Tim didn't have any family in Miami, let alone Florida. How do you-"

"Just trust me. We'll be right there."

How was she supposed to argue with that, especially since he hung up on her, she wondered. With a sigh, she turned off the computer and went to one of the file cabinets, finding the correct form that they would need. She grabbed a clipboard that wasn't being used, and slid the paper underneath the claw, wondering how she was going to wait a half hour for Horatio's latest mystery to be solved. Time seemed to pass so slowly as she continued to look at her watch, and then the clock on the wall, wondering which of the two was running slower than the other. Twenty minutes after the call, she moved out of the office and down to the loading zone.

The clipboard hanging from one hand, she watched as the Hummer pulled into the space that was reserved for ambulances and other transport vehicles, looking like all of its seats were filled. She crossed her arms as Horatio climbed out of the vehicle himself and walked up to her, sunglasses in place. "Okay, what is this all about, because you've got me worried now."

He took the clipboard from her and signed his name in the proper place. "It's going to be a shock, but we can explain everything. Almost everything, that is." He took a deep breath and waved to whoever else was in the vehicle. One by one, they slowly got out, silent and white-faced.

"What is going on?" she asked him again, moments before the last person climbed out. He didn't look sheepish, like the others, or shell-shocked. At best, he looked confused. He looked...but that wasn't possible, she told herself. It just wasn't. And yet, there he was. He looked like Tim Speedle.

Alexx wasn't conscious of her reaction. She never felt the tears in her eyes, and she never felt the tremble in her hands. "This isn't possible."

"It is. We checked his fingerprints." He could tell, by the posture of her body, that she had been surprised by the words, but she never moved her eyes from the approaching figure. "He doesn't remember anything, doesn't know who he is. He didn't know that he was supposed to be dead. This never would have happened if his parents would have agreed to the autopsy, but..." He stopped rambling when Alexx moved closer to the approaching man, shaking her head.

"Tim," she said softly, much in the manner than Calleigh had earlier in the day.

He stopped, and they could see the confusion written clearly on his face, whether or not he should respond to the still unfamiliar name. He finally shrugged and offered the coroner a smile. "It's okay. You can if you want. You obviously know me." She took his words as consent and hesitantly, tenderly, embraced the young man. He reciprocated, but didn't so much embrace her as hold her. When she pulled away, he smiled again. "That felt...familiar somehow," he told her.

Horatio interrupted the moment, holding the clipboard out for him. "I need you to sign this."

"You need my permission to exhume my body? That sounds twisted," he said, taking the item and the pen. He faltered above the line for his name. "I don't know how to sign my name, though. Will that matter?" When he received a shake of the head, he put the tip of the pen on the paper and scrawled something.

"You may not remember," Alexx told him. "But that's almost identical to your signature." It took an effort, but she managed to turn away from him, back to Horatio. "Now, who gets to explain this one to the judge?"


	5. Chapter Five

Title- Gain Control Again

Authors- Dame Flame and pepsicolagurl

Rating- PG13 for language and situations

Disclaimer- See Chapter One.

Author's Notes- Enjoy and let us know what you think! Medical information is taken from the Merck Manual of Medical Information (or, the bible, in pepsicolagurl's house). We did take some liberties, of course. The personal factor of it isn't written in a medical book, and try and find information on the Internet about things like this. Either way, any mistakes are our own. And it's a short chapter, we know. We'll make up for it. (aside from pepsicolagurl- this is what happens when your grandmother's in the hospital, you have to work in a few hours, and then have to go to your staff party. The bosses better be buying me my first beer of the night).

**adpi24**- (explanation from pepsicolagurl)- We knew we were going to run into these questions, so here we go. The events of Lost Son and the events of our story doesn't exactly add up for a reason. The reason, you ask? In Lost Son, Speedle died on a jewelry store floor. That just didn't sit right with me, or Dame Flame. This is how we saw it: Speedle gets shot, Speedle gets taken to Jackson Memorial, Speedle goes into surgery, Speedle (supposedly) dies in surgery. The explanation as to why there was no autopsy done on him is coming in the next chapter, so we hope that it clears it up for you a little.

**Mac3**- We're sorry that we didn't throw in the reaction of the judge. We wanted to, we really did, but it was a weak scene, and we just couldn't improve on it, no matter what we tried. If you still want the reaction (or if anyone does), you can always email Dame Flame or pepsicolagurl. We'd be happy to send it to you. If you do want it, please don't leave a review for it, because our computers seem to act like twins, and neither of us can see email addresses on this site. Yup, it's a pain in the ass. That's the reason for all these long explanations before the chapters.

Spoilers- From Lost Son on.

* * *

  
Gain Control Again  
Chapter Five

_And like a lighthouse you must stand alone  
__Landmark a safe journey's end  
__No matter what sea I've been sailing on  
__I'll always come back home again_

_Out on the road that lies before me  
__There are some turns where I will spin  
__I only hope that you can hold me now  
__'Til I gain control again_

* * *

"How could this be possible?" Horatio asked, startling the coroner.

She looked up from the instrument tray that she was laying out. "Memory loss like this? It's called dissociative amnesia. It's not common, but it's not rare, either." With a sigh, she turned towards him, resting a single hip against an empty autopsy table. "It has a number of triggers, but in this case, we know what it is. The shooting. His mind just doesn't want to work through what happened. He doesn't want to remember carrying a gun. Because of that, he's forgotten almost everything about his life. At least, that's what it seems like. He should see a psychiatrist, help him work through this."

"Would it help..." He paused and looked down at his hands. "Would it help if we brought him back here? Showed him around, showed him what he used to do?"

Her eyes took on a cautious look. "Maybe. But Horatio, you're the criminalist, look at the evidence. He doesn't want to remember the shooting, and he doesn't want to remember what happened at the lab. It could do him more harm than good to be here. Even just to look around. The man we all saw today...that's not Tim. It's some shadow of his former self. It could make him repress even further." She shook her head. "If it had just been the fact that he was repressing the memory of the jewelry store, we wouldn't have this problem. But he must have some serious issues, because essentially, he's thrown away his entire life."

"What do I do?" he asked.

It was rare to see Horatio like this, so unsure of everything. She could read the confusion in his eyes, the same that he could read the hesitancy in hers over opening the casket that was in the room. "You can't treat him like a victim, because his mind doesn't register that he is one. He's taken all of this so calmly, I wonder if he really believes everything that we've told him. Re-assosciate him with his personal life. Take him places that he's been before, outside of work. Have him speak to his parents and his brother. Those things may help in triggering some sort of memory. But this isn't an exact science. He could walk down the street one day, see a mailbox, remember a certain piece of mail he got, and his memory returns."

She looked over her shoulder at the dirty casket, wondering when she would have the strength to open it. Exhumations didn't normally bother her, but this had quickly turned personal. "What are the odds of his memory coming back. Fully, I mean."

"I don't know. He may get all of it back, he may get some of it back, and he may not get any of it back. There's no way to judge these things. It depends on how far he's pushed the event from his mind. His body almost died, and his mind went through something so traumatic, we may never understand it. It's no wonder why his soul is so confused." She bowed her head. "Where is he now?"

Horatio sighed. "We took his back to Mary's, the woman he's been staying with. Everyone offered him a place to stay, but he wants to stay with her. Says that she needs his help, more than he needs ours. He didn't mean it to be cruel."

It brought a smile to the world-weary coroner's face. "That sounds like Tim. Looking out for others before himself. There's still pieces of him there, but...other things aren't right. His personality has changed, parts of it. He's more talkative, more cheerful than he used to be. And before you ask, that does happen. He's changing certain points of his personality, because it was his personality and habits that led up to the events he's repressing." She looked at him, reached out a hand to lay on his arm. "Give him time. And while you're waiting for Tim to come back home, show him around Miami, his favorite places."

"I didn't really know what he was like outside of work. Outside of the few dinners we all went to..."

"I know. I had him over at my house a number of times, but I didn't really know Tim that well, either. He didn't want people to know him." She smiled, remembering a better time. "Last Christmas, I convinced him to come to our house for dinner. We weren't doing the big family thing that year, it was just us. He went a step further, and dressed up like Santa for my kids the night before. They'll never forget that. Neither will I. It's small things like that, that will ultimately end up helping him."

The doors to the autopsy theater swung open then, and Ryan walked in. He exchanged nods with his supervisor, who turned to leave them. "I think I might know who's in that casket," he announced, walking up to Alexx, but keeping a professional distance.

For once, instead of the coldness that he usually met from her, her expression softened. "I can't imagine that this is easy for you, either," she said suddenly, surprising him.

He could only shrug in reply. "I was going over the statements that Calleigh and I collected from the families of the missing patients. One of them mentioned that their father, a homeless man, had been shot. Same month as...Detective Speedle." What the hell was he supposed to call him, he wondered. "She mentioned that an officer had been shot that day, as well, and I looked in the records. The only officer-involved shooting in June was...well, you can figure it out."

That swung Alexx into motion. She called him over to where the casket was, and offered him a pair of latex gloves. "You use the crowbar, I'll push up," she told him. He nodded and jimmied the metal into place, applying downward pressure. The wood creaked in protest as he threw all his weight behind it. On the side of him, Alexx pressed her palms against the lid and pushed up, both of them grunting and breathing hard with their exertion.

"Get your hands away," he told her. She obliged, only seconds before the lid crashed back down. "His parents picked out a hell of a heavy casket," he bitched, stopping to catch his breath. Alexx chuckled on the other side of him. "All right, let's try this again."

The second time was the charm. The lid was flipped up, and they both made faces at the musty smell. "Well, whoever he is, that's not Tim." Alexx frowned. "Do you have a picture of her father?"

"No, but I can get one. Can you get fingerprints from him? There's a chance that her father might have been arrested before. He was homeless, and I know from working patrol that some officers just pick them up and throw them in jail. Well, some do it when the weather's getting bad and the person is too stubborn to go to an emergency shelter. It's better that they have a warm place to stay and hot food. Other officers do it just because it's a slow night, and they need to get their kicks somehow."

"That's disgusting."

"That's patrol," he said over his shoulder, as he was leaving.

* * *

A few hours later, Ryan knocked on Horatio's office door. "We have a positive ID on the body In Detective Speedle's casket," he announced. Horatio waved him in and gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "His name is Brian Metzger. He's one of the missing patients. Basically, they swapped the two of them." He shrugged. "Alexx is looking for a cause of death, but she doesn't know if she'll find one. It's been a few months, after all."

Horatio nodded. "Thank you, Ryan." He paused, fingers playing the edge of a file. "I can't imagine that this is easy for you."

"What do you mean?" the young man asked him.

"You've been living in the shadow of a dead man since your first day here. There was no explanation for your hiring, other than to have you fill the space that Speed left. But he's alive now."

Ryan nodded curtly. "Does anyone else know yet?"

"Outside of us? No. But it won't be long before it gets out. I'll be holding a meeting with the lab tomorrow, to inform everyone. But I still want to keep it quiet for awhile, not only because of the investigation, but because I know the press is going to be hounding all of us, especially Speed."

"Where did that nickname come from, anyway? Almost everyone calls him that."

It brought a touch a smile to Horatio's face, brightening his blue eyes. "I countered with that when he started to call me H. It stuck. Everyone here picked up on it." He sobered instantly. "Don't worry about your job, Ryan. You still have it, and you will, when he gets his memory back. I'm not going to bring you up here, only to push you back down to what you used to do. You're a criminalist now, and you'll remain that until the day that you want to leave."

The news should have made him happy, but instead, he remained indifferent. At least, on the outside. "He was...is...a better criminalist than I am."

"In some things, but not in everything. You're still learning. We all are. Speed was at the place that you are now. If he was...who he used to be, he would understand. But thank you for the information. I didn't want to call his parents until we knew for sure."

He noticed the words for what they were and stood up, heading for the door. "The fingerprints weren't enough?" he asked.

"There's never enough evidence," he countered, as he was picking up the phone.

It was the hardest phone call he was ever going to make.


	6. Chapter Six

Title- Gain Control Again

Author- Dame Flame and pepsicolagurl

Rating- PG13 for now. It could change, depending on our moods and our fights...sorry, discussions.

Disclaimer- See Chapter One. But the cigarettes are no longer available in the lawsuit. The price went up again.

Author's Notes- (from Dame Flame) This one's for pepsicolagurl (Julia) and her grandma (Julia). Now I know where your stubbornness comes from. I've got my fingers crossed for both of you. Let's hope the beginning of 2005 is just a minor bump in the road of a great year. Aside from that, enjoy and let us know what you think. This chapter is a little longer than normal. There was just too much to write, and we couldn't break up this bit of it.

Spoilers- From Lost Son on. But you knew that already, if you've made it this far.

* * *

Gain Control Again  
Chapter Six

_And like a lighthouse you must stand alone  
__Landmark a safe journey's end  
__No matter what sea I've been sailing on  
__I'll always come back home again_

_Out on the road that lies before me  
__There are some turns where I will spin  
__I only hope that you can hold me now  
__'Til I gain control again_

* * *

Horatio took a deep breath as the phone began to ring, waiting for the other line to be picked up. "May I please speak to Abigail Speedle?" he asked as soon as the ringing stopped.

"That would be me," a female voice answered.

He stiffened slightly. How in the hell was he supposed to go about this? "Ma'am, this is Lieutenant Horatio Caine, from the Miami-Dade crime lab. I was your son's supervisor."

"I remember," she said softly. The pain was still raw, he could tell. He knew. He had gone through the same thing himself, a number of times, but the people he had lost before in his life never came back. There was no happy ending for them. There was for Speedle. "Does this have to do with the court case? I understand that it doesn't start for a few months."

"No, no, this doesn't have anything to do with the case. It has to do with Speed, however." He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible. It wasn't helping in the least. "Recently, it's been brought to our attention that there have been a few problems at Jackson Memorial Hospital. They've lost or misplaced a number of their patients in the past few months."

"Yes, I've seen the story on CNN. Just this morning, in fact. What...what does that have to do with...Timothy?"

It was still hard for her to say his name, he realized. He could understand that, as well. Well, ma'am, Jackson Memorial is where Speed was taken when he was...he was injured in the line of duty. He was originally taken to the emergency room there, and then up to surgery. We were told that he didn't make it through surgery, that he was unstable to begin with, and no matter what they tried, they just couldn't..."

"I remember," she said shortly.

Ah, that word was being tossed around again. It seemed so ironic that everyone was remembering that day, remembering what happened, remembering their feelings, and the one person that needed to remember couldn't. As Speedle would have said, if he was acting like Speedle, fate was giving them a kick in the ass. The mild cursing was one thing that Horatio could never break him off, although the young man managed to keep it under control whenever he had been talking to witnesses. "It turns out that...that Speed...was one of those patients that they misplaced."

Silence greeted him on the other end. It would take her awhile to process the information, he knew that. They still hadn't managed to, and they had seen him with their own eyes. But he wasn't surprised at the reaction that he got from her. "That's a very sick joke that you're making, Lieutenant." Her voice was cold, but he could still hear the emotion. She was about to cry. He heard that.

"Please, ma'am, don't hang up," he answered earnestly. "This isn't a joke. I'm serious. This is fact. We've performed tests, a fingerprint test. They match." He was so desperate to have her believe him.

"Just a moment please," and now her voice sounded mechanical. He waited, drumming his fingers on the surface of his desk, for a good five minutes. When she came back on the line, she wasn't alone. "I think my husband should hear this. I've asked him to listen in on the other line."

"Of course. I completely understand, ma'am."

It was a male voice, roughened by years of smoking cigars or cigarettes. Horatio was betting on the former. "Lieutenant, if what you say is true, and trust us, we want nothing more than to believe that you're telling the truth, why didn't Timothy contact someone?"

He frowned. "That's where it gets complicated, sir. There was another man that was shot that day, and we believe that he was in surgery as well. There must have been some sort of mix-up, because that man was the one that ended up being buried. Speed was in the hospital. He went through the surgery with flying colors. The only problem was, when he woke up, he didn't know who he was, and the hospital staff couldn't tell him. Tim Speedle had died, after all, and the homeless man that died in surgery never had a name, as far as they knew. He still doesn't know who he is."

That announcement was met with a surprised shout of laughter from Speedle's father. "Amnesia, you mean. That happens in movies and books, not real life."

"I can understand your hesitancy, Mr. Speedle. I couldn't believe it myself when he called. He's been living with an older woman that he met at the hospital, and when the news story broke in Miami, she asked him to call. If it wouldn't have been for her, we may never have known that he was still alive. And let me assure you again, this is your son. One of our investigators took his fingerprints, and ran them against the department database. He ran them against Tim Speedle's fingerprints only, and they came back with a ninety nine percent match. There's no coincidence that can explain that happening. It's not possible."

"You're sure?" his mother asked, her voice strained. "You're sure that it's him? He's said that he's Timothy."

"No, ma'am. He still doesn't...we only found out today. A few hours ago, to be precise. He's still confused. He doesn't know who he is. The woman he's with has given him a name, one that he responds to, but the entire time we were talking to him, we referred to him by his real name. He's beginning to recognize the fact that it's him. But he has no idea who Tim Speedle was. He doesn't have any memories of his life. It's called dissociative amnesia. It's caused by a traumatic event." He paused, taking a deep breath. "I know that it sounds hard to believe, but trust me, I've spoken nothing but the truth."

It was his father that spoke. "I hope you understand that we won't truly believe this, until we get to speak to our son. Until then...can you set that up for us, Lieutenant?"

"I can do better than that. I can give you his number."

* * *

The news that Tim Speedle was still alive went over, not surprisingly, not well with the entire Miami-Dade crime lab. Horatio had informed the day shift, and let them do the dirty work of spreading the news. When he had made his announcement, it had been met with guffaws of disbelieving laughter, shakes of the head, and one very angry woman named Valera asking where the hell he got off making a joke like that. He hadn't brought Speedle with him, not wanting to put the young man through what he had just done. After every little bit of the story had been analyzed and processed by the group, they had all left, shaking their heads, wondering what the hell was going on. Tim Speedle was supposed to be dead.

The autopsy that Alexx performed no longer had to be kept quiet. The whispers were heard throughout the lab about the body in the casket, about why no one knew that it wasn't Speedle laying in there. That alone had quieted down the criminalists, save for Ryan, who had privately asked the question to Horatio when they both had a free moment. The answer hadn't surprised him. There had been certain instructions that had been laid out by Speedle, written almost a year after he had started at the lab. No autopsy, no open casket, to be done as quickly as possible. Horatio had had a sinking feeling that the instructions were because of his mode of transportation, not so much what could happen to him in the line of duty.

It had been a week since Speedle had left Miami and flew back home to New York state, to meet with his parents and younger brother again. Horatio didn't blame them, there were some things that a phone call just didn't make up for. The press still hadn't learned of the recent developments, but he knew that it wouldn't be long until they did. He scoured the newspapers every morning before work, watched the news when he got home, but there was nothing mentioned other than small developments about the case.

Sarah O'Reilly had been informed that they had identified her father's body, and the funeral was to take place in a few days. The entire day shift of criminalists, plus Alexx, had told her that they would be there, if only for the fact that if she hadn't brought her problem to their attention, they might never have known that Tim was still alive and somewhat well.

He sighed and leaned back on his couch, closing his eyes, allowing the near silence of his house to calm him down. They were working themselves into a frenzy over the Jackson Memorial case, and hitting nothing but brick walls along the way. Nurses didn't remember anything, doctors barely had time to talk to them, and the medical students didn't bother returning their calls half the time. They were still missing two victims: an eighty year old woman, and a middle-aged man. And there was always the nagging worry that there could be more victims than those that they knew of.

Horatio's problem was parallel to the case, but not necessarily part of it. Any time that they went over the evidence, or lack thereof, in the case, he kept thinking of Tim Speedle, in the hospital, confused as to who he was, not knowing where he belonged. And worst of all, he kept thinking about that day in June, when they thought that they had lost him.

_"-repeat, we have an officer down. We need EMS now," he barked into the phone, and then thumbed the button to cut off the dispatcher, dropping the phone on the tile floor. It shattered. It didn't matter. He turned back to Speedle, his eyes sweeping the trembling man, lingering on the tear in his dark blue button down. "I'm sorry," he murmured, before he took the handkerchief out of his pocket and folded it, pressing it against the bleeding wound. He was relieved to hear the hiss of pain that came from Speedle, but with the hiss came a flow of blood from his mouth. Internal bleeding. Not good, Horatio thought. "Stay with me, Speed," he commanded him._

_Whatever the man tried to say to him, he couldn't understand. His struggle for words brought forth a strangled cough, spraying the warm blood over Horatio's shirt. Didn't matter. He had plenty. But he saw the fear in his brown eyes, and bit down on the inside of his cheek, refusing to react to it. He saw the pain written on his face, saw the unshed tears in his eyes. _

_This was wrong. He knew something was going to happen, something bad, when he had seen Speedle settle his hand on the butt of his gun. Should have pushed him out of the way. Should have taken the bullet for him. _

_He was struggling for breath now, his chest heaving in a strange pattern. He could feel the weakening beat of his heart beneath his hands. The blood just wouldn't stop coming, and he applied more pressure. Didn't help. Broke a rib. Didn't matter. Had to save him. "Breathe slowly, Speed. In and out. Slow," he told him. _

_Another choke. Another spray of blood. This time it landed on his face. _

_"You're fine. You're going to be fine."_

_The ambulance pulled up then._

He took in a ragged breath and opened his eyes, reaching for the thick bottomed glass on the table. Scotch and soda wouldn't make everything go away, but it would pleasantly numb the memories for awhile. Two drinks, and he would be able to go about the evening without having to relive the shooting, without having the relive the pain of not having Tim Speedle in the lab anymore.

The knock that sounded on his door surprised him, enough that he put the glass back down a little harder than he had anticipated. Standing up, he went to answer the door, even more surprised to see the woman standing there. With her blonde head bowed, and her hands playing with the ties of her plain dark grey hooded sweatshirt, Calleigh Duquense looked like a child more than anything. She raised her head to look at him and smiled, but it wavered and disappeared quickly. "I know you said that if I needed anything, I could call, but I took it one step further. I hope you don't mind," she began hesitantly.

Her answer came when he moved aside and waved for her to enter. She did, kicking off her sandals and following him to the living room, where she sat next to him on the couch, her legs curled under her. "You talked to Speed today, didn't you?" he asked.

"I got off the phone with him about two hours ago," she told him, sighing lightly. "I understand everything that Alexx told us, about the personality change and everything, but it's so hard to hear his voice and know that whoever that is talking to me isn't him. It's not him at all. It doesn't sound the slightest bit like him." She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers. "He was telling me about how his brother was showing him around the town, where he went to high school, where he would hang out with friends. And he sounded excited about it. How often did you actually hear Tim get excited about something?"

Horatio nodded. "I got the same thing from him the other day. It's almost like he's manic." He reached for his drink, not bothering to offer one to Calleigh. She would have refused, anyway. "Alexx thinks that he's using those things to occupy himself so that he doesn't have to remember. He says that he wants to remember, but...deep down, he wants to hide behind the confusion."

"That, also, doesn't sound like the Tim Speedle we knew." She leaned her head against the back of his couch, her body turned so that she was facing him. "Did you hear what happened when Eric took him to see his motorcycle?"

"Eric had his motorcycle?" he asked, mildly interested.

She moved her head in a nod, hair falling over one shoulder. "His father told us that we could do whatever we wanted with it. Keep it, sell it, didn't matter. Eric kept it. He didn't have the heart to sell it, and I didn't have the heart to take it. Anyway, the day before he left, Eric took him into the garage to show it to him, hoping that it would trigger some sort of memory. He looked at Eric's truck instead, and thought it might have been his. When he told him that the motorcycle was his, he got defensive, saying that he would never own something like that."

"Maybe that has something to do with it," he mused, taking another sip of scotch.

"I don't think so. I think it just has something to do with Tim Speedle, and if he remembers the motorcycle, he has to remember the person who owned it." Now her hands were picking at the jeans she was wearing. "I talked to that psychiatrist this morning. He basically told me the same things that Alexx did. Keep him calm, show him around, but don't mention the lab or what he did there. It's not like he asks about it anymore, anyway."

Horatio turned his head to look at her. "I think he's beginning to catch on to us. He knows that we're not going to mention it, so he's not going to. That's the reason I wanted to work with him. Not because of his schooling, or because what Megan told me, but because of his intuitiveness. I've never seen or heard him be so blissfully ignorant before, though."

"I couldn't stand it, listening to him. I stayed on the phone until he was done, but...I don't know if I can keep doing this. It's only been a week and a half of him being alive, and I don't know if I can keep pretending like nothing happened. Like he wasn't gone for three months." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I just don't know anymore. It's like someone's taken my life and thrown it into a Cuisinart. He was dead, so Ryan was there. Now he's alive."

He chanced a look at her and saw her haunted eyes. "It will get better," he told her.

"They say that it has to get worse before it can get better."

"I don't listen to 'they'. It will get better." Funny thing was, he didn't believe it himself.


	7. Chapter Seven

Title- Gain Control Again

Authors- Dame Flame and pepsicolagurl

Rating- PG13 for the moment. Depending on our mood, and how much crap we want to put the characters through.

Disclaimer- See Chapter One.

Author's Notes- (from pepsicolagurl) I think that I'm going to be able to type out "Tim Speedle" in my sleep now. Sorry for all the full name business. Enjoy and let us know what you think!

Spoilers- From Lost Son on. Man, that's strange to type.

* * *

Gain Control Again  
Chapter Seven

_And like a lighthouse you must stand alone  
__Landmark a safe journey's end  
__No matter what sea I've been sailing on  
__I'll always come back home again_

_Out on the road that lies before me  
__There are some turns where I will spin  
__I only hope that you can hold me now  
__'Til I gain control again_

* * *

When he asked her to meet him for dinner, she was surprised. It was an invitation that she had never received before, but then, he wasn't the same person that he used to be, either. He had picked an upscale restaurant, nothing at all like the ones that she imagined he used to frequent. It had only taken her an hour after work, to actually get to her apartment and change for dinner. He was waiting for her outside.

It took a moment for her to recover from her shock. She had seen Speedle in a suit before. Quite a few times, in fact, when he was going to testify in court, or during the yearly police banquet. But he had always looked uncomfortable, like his necktie was an updated and more fashionable version of a noose. The Tim Speedle waiting for her looked completely at ease in the dark suit, wearing a button down shirt that looked like it could have been the twin to the shirt that he was wearing when he had been shot. His hair, shorter than normal, had been tamed, and he had shaved again, making his face look fuller than normal. That, or he had been eating well.

He saw her walk up to him, and grinned suddenly. No, she realized, he wasn't anything like the Tim Speedle of old. "Good evening, Miss Duquense," he teased as she came closer.

She smiled, thinking that she would have to force the expression onto her face. Surprisingly, it came easily. "Well, aren't you the charmer tonight? You could have waited inside, you know. I didn't think that I would be this late."

"You're not late, I'm early." He smiled again as he held the door open for her. The table had been reserved under the name Speedle, and she wondered why that shocked her. They had been insisting to him, for two weeks now, that he was Tim Speedle. They were led to their table, conveniently tucked in a corner. He apologized as he helped her with the heavy chair, and then sat himself. "I figured that the two of us, sitting front and center, would have attracted too much attention."

She shrugged as a waiter came by to pour water in their glasses. "I don't recognize anyone here, and we don't know if you do. There is a chance that someone would know you here, but there are a lot of restaurants in Miami."

It was his turn to shrug. It was a purely Speedle thing to do, as was the disinterested look on his face. "I got a call from a reporter today. Well, more specifically, Mary did. She told him that she didn't know anyone by that name, and would he please stop bothering her. I figure that the story will break in the morning newspaper, no matter how little information and evidence they have."

Calleigh's body tightened somewhat at the mention of evidence, but didn't bother to comment on it. It wasn't like it was a word that was used only by people in their profession. It had been used for years, and it could mean any number of things, she told herself. "Have you spoken to anyone?"

"No, but Lieutenant Caine told me that by them asking questions at the hospital about me, it was bound to get out eventually. They can't exactly not mention me, I guess. I'm part of an active investigation." When she stiffened again, he narrowed his eyes. "Are you okay? I realize, it's not exactly the ideal subject to speak about over dinner, but I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

She shook her head, and this time, the smile was forced. "No, no, it's not that. It's just that it seems strange to hear those words coming from you, when you don't remember anything about your job." She played with the edge of the dark green table cloth. "You and I only used to speak in those contexts, of course. Evidence, active investigations...we were never particularly close."

There was a sparkle in his eyes that she didn't understand at first, because she had never seen it before. That it could have been caused by the candle light was her first thought, but then she recognized it for what it was. "I find that very hard to believe." He was flirting with her. Dear Lord, Tim Speedle was flirting with her. It had never happened before, and she had to admit, it made her somewhat uncomfortable. She was used to flirting with Eric, that was nothing. They were friends, and they knew it. There were even a few instances that her and Horatio had engaged in platonic baiting, but it had never happened with Speedle before. He just wasn't that type. "Did we fight a lot?"

"No," she said quietly. "It wasn't anything like that. It was just...you were a very private person, Tim. You never talked about what happened outside of the lab. Eric brags about his girlfriends all the time, but you just never said a thing. When you were at work, you were at work. When you were off, you were off. There was just no mixing the two. Other than you going to Alexx's house for dinners, or going over to Eric's to watch the occasional game, you didn't associate with anyone from work. Or, if you did, you never mentioned it."

Their conversation was halted for a moment as they were approached by a waitress, and accepted the menus from her, trading her for their drink orders; a flavored and carbonated water for Calleigh, a decanter of merlot for Speedle. They busied themselves with the menu until their drinks appeared. When the woman disappeared, they picked up where they had left off. "So, you don't know about old girlfriends or friends of mine?"

"Can't say that I do. There was one time that you and Eric went out together, to some new club. Of course, someone started a fire that night, and you were back to work before you could finish your first drink. That's all I've ever heard about, and that's only because we all worked on the case." She had broken her rule about not mentioning work to him, but there was no way around it sometimes. She knew that the psychiatrist they had been talking to meant well with all of his warning and rules, but none of them really knew Speedle outside of work. "Eric might know more than I do, however. You might want to try talking to him."

He frowned, another facial expression that she was used to when she looked at him. The furrowing of his brow, and the purse of the lips was so damned familiar, she half expected to see him pull a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket and get to work on a crime scene. "He doesn't really talk to me all that much. I guess he's still working through everything, but right now, he keeps his distance. I can't blame him for that. It's not hard to imagine a life, put myself in his shoes, and think about what my reaction would be."

"I wonder if it would be the same," she murmured to herself, shaking her head at his confused smile. "I have a habit of talking to myself. Actually, we all do. It's not unusual for any of us to talk to ourselves, especially at work. We like to think that we're talking to the evidence, but we all know the truth."

They placed their appetizer order with the ever-hovering waitress, watching as she bustled off. "You know, even after five...ten minutes of talking to you, it's even harder to believe that we never went out like this before."

For a moment, she wondered about the intent behind those words. Did he think that this was some kind of date, because she hadn't agreed to meet him for dinner with that in mind. It was hard to tell, just by looking at him. His eyes were as unreadable as ever, but not in the way that they used to be.

"Well, we just never saw the point before, I guess."

And she hoped to hell that she wasn't baiting him.

* * *

"Alexx, can I ask you something?" Calleigh asked as she entered the autopsy theater, looking at the coroner.

"As long as you don't mind if we have company," she countered, gesturing to the body that was lying on her table. Calleigh smiled as she walked in further. "What happened? You have a look on your face that can only be described as someone kicking your dog."

She smiled again, a little weaker this time, as she watched the coroner take a sample from underneath the body's fingernails. "Well, I didn't have a dog before, but now someone is nipping at my heels. I went out for dinner with Tim Speedle last night, and he certainly wasn't himself."

The other woman smirked. "Well, we all knew that."

"No, I think this is a little more serious. I remember last year, at the police banquet, that Tim was awfully courteous, but I've never seen him acting like such a gentleman before. And then something else happened. I would have gone to someone else about this, but I think this is strictly girl talk."

Alexx caught on immediately. "You're kidding." Calleigh shook her head, biting her lip at the same time. It created an adorable image. "He was flirting with you? That's a first."

"I think he saw last night as a date. I went out there, thinking that he was going to ask me some questions, and I would give him some answers about who he used to be, but it didn't turn out like that. To tell the truth, it made me uncomfortable. I'm not used to him being like that, and I don't know if I liked it or not." She shook her head again. "I know, we're running everything that happens through Horatio. He's the one paying for that damned psychiatrist in the first place, but I just can't see myself telling him these things. I'm surprised that Tim didn't escort me home."

She was rewarded with a shrug. "I don't know what to tell you, Calleigh. On one hand, he may be using you as a way of not remembering. I know that the two of you have never gone out before, and subsconciously, he knows that and he's using it to his advantage. On the other hand, it may be that he was attracted to you before, and with his sudden personality change, he can act on that now." She paused and almost laughed. "Don't give me that look. It's completely possible, and I honestly don't know which one it could be. It could be something else, for all we know. But I think you might want to run it past the psychologist. He may be able to give you a more definite answer."

"How do you figure that? He doesn't know Tim Speedle any better than we do, and Tim won't go to see him. I asked him about it last night. He told me that it wasn't worth his time."

"That sounds more like Tim. He avoided his yearly meeting with the staff psychologist whenever he could. I always thought that it had something to do with the fact that IAB was involved, but I guess not."

Calleigh shrugged. "What do I do, though? I have this feeling that he's going to ask me out again, no matter how innocent it may seem. Do I go along with it, to make him comfortable. Do I push him away, because it never would have happened before this. Or do I just accept and hope for the best, that he won't hit on me again. Alexx, I'm really confused here. I have to admit, I never thought of Tim like that. He was always just someone that I worked with."

Stripping off her gloves and dropping them in a nearby lidded trash can, she walked up to Calleigh and put her hands on her arms, her face full of sympathy. "I honestly don't know what to tell you. Maybe you need a man's opinion on this. I've never seen what Tim was like before when he was rejected, and now, we don't have the slightest clue as to how he would react. The only thing I can tell you is to not stop his progress, but I don't know what that entails. I don't have the answers for everything, honey, no matter how much I wish I did."

"What progress are you talking about? He's as clueless as ever. It's been two weeks and nothing's happened."

"And it may never. You have to understand that." She released her hold on the blonde woman, and took a step back. "With amnesia like this, nothing is ever certain. I told this to Horatio that first day. His memory may never come back, and in that case, we'll have to accept him the way he is, no matter how much we don't like it. It bothers me, too. He's such a bright, intelligent person, and now, he's lost all of that. He worked so hard to get to where he was a few months ago, and it's all disappeared on him. The only thing that consoles me is the fact that he doesn't realize what he's lost." She hugged the woman quickly. "Worry about this later. Go back to work, occupy your mind with something else. The answers will come to you eventually."

Calleigh nodded. "Thank you. I'm sorry to bother you with all of this, but..."

"Don't you worry about it. You can come to me with anything, and you know that," she told her with a stern look that she usually reserved for her children. "Go on. I have work of my own to do." She watched the woman leave and chuckled to herself. "You always have to make things complicated, don't you, Tim?" she asked the empty autopsy theater.

And thankfully, the dead body didn't answer her.


	8. Chapter Eight

Title- Gain Control Again

Authors- Dame Flame and pepsicolagurl

Rating- PG13 for the moment.

Disclaimer- See Chapter One. It's a doozy.

Author's Notes- And now, by popular demand (well, no one asked for it, but we wanted it), we bring you something from the mind of Timothy R. Speedle (no, we don't know what the R stands for either). This story seriously spiraled out of control here. We were never intending to write an overly angsty Speedle fiction. It was supposed to deal with everyone's reactions, especially Ryan Wolfe's. But, of course, pepsicolagurl writes by the seat of her pants, and asked me to do the same thing. This is what ended up happening. And a little extra note, especially for anyone who thinks this might turn into a 'shipper story, this isn't the basis for anything like this. This is just another confusing chapter in an already confusing story. Enjoy and let us know what you think!

**Kuroi Neko-kun**- The story isn't really turning into a 'shipper story, as far as we can tell. We've gone back and rewritten about half the story (it was finished about a week and a half ago, before DF started to post it. Now, we've gone back and we're in the process of rewriting some of it, because our idea completely changed). I think we've come to the understanding that if we want to write a 'shipper story in this "universe", we'll write a sequel or companion piece, because I'm enjoying just playing around with all the characters, and I think DF is, too. Remember, Tim Speedle in this story isn't the Tim Speedle that we all know, love, and want to sleep with...I didn't really mean to add that last part in there. Uh huh, we all believe that one.

Spoilers- From Lost Son on. Do we really need to say it anymore? We'll keep it up, anyway.

* * *

Gain Control Again  
Chapter Eight

_And like a lighthouse you must stand alone  
__Landmark a safe journey's end  
__No matter what sea I've been sailing on  
__I'll always come back home again_

_Out on the road that lies before me  
__There are some turns where I will spin  
__I only hope that you can hold me now  
__'Til I gain control again_

* * *

He sat on the edge of his bed with a sigh and a frown.

It had been just over two weeks since he had been informed that he had a real name, a real life. It had seemed implausible to him that there really was a past and a name to go along with his face. Now, he was beginning to believe it. It had really hit home, so to speak, when he had flown out to see his parents. There had been no recognition whatsoever of their faces, their voices...hell, even their names, and the same applied to his brother. But he would never forget their reaction.

Their oldest son had literally been raised from the dead. Of course, they had cried, and yes, it had embarrassed him, but there were some things that had gnawed at him since the moment he had pulled up to the rather large house. From the explanation of his "friends" in Miami, he had owned a small apartment that was barely worth mentioning, but his parents lived in a rather ornate house. A house that he had grown up in. He hadn't recognized his old room at all, which was kept almost as a shrine to Timothy Speedle before he went to college. The posters on the walls had seen better days, and there were even some old school papers that were tucked away in the desk. The only major change, he was told, was in the closet and in the bureau, where all new clothes were waiting for him.

He hadn't recognized any of the places that he had been taken, but he had feigned excitement over the phone whenever anyone asked. Why, he wasn't sure. There was something in his mind that kept screaming at him to tell whoever was on the other line all about these things, to pretend like he cared. Because he didn't. He liked who he was at the moment. And yet, there were all these people that were demanding that he remember who he was. It was almost...almost like...someone was trying to light a fire under him.

_(stop trying to light a fire under my ass. can't make the machines run the tests any quicker)_

And where did that come from? A piece of his old life. It was that internal voice again, the one that would let him in on a few select things, but on the whole, refused to let him know the whole story. What was so bad about Tim Speedle's life that he didn't want to remember? His parents hadn't had any answers, and neither did his brother, for all it mattered. He didn't think that, in his past life, he was all that close with his brother. They didn't even look like they were related.

When he had stepped out of the airport in Miami, it had a feeling of coming home. He wasn't comfortable with his parents, and he wasn't comfortable among some of the people that claimed to know him in Miami, but he could tell that the city was home to him. Every now and then, there would be flashes of scenes playing out in his head, as his taxi took him back to Mary's house. A Chinese restaurant that apparently had the best almond chicken, if that internal voice could be believed. A used bookstore in which he had found a first edition copy of Stephen King's Misery, a book that he had taken wicked pleasure in reading. A video rental that he frequented. But none of that really mattered. What was he going to do, walk in and accost the people that work there, demanding that they tell him what he always bought? Answers that wouldn't mean anything to him.

His father had opened him an account in a Miami bank, and deposited the exact amount of money that he had before he had "died". Plus a little extra. He was surprised that he hadn't been told not to spend it all in one place. He knew that he was lavishing in the new money, buying himself expensive, tasteful clothes to replace the tee shirt and jeans he had habitually worn over the past few months. And it had been worth it, when he had asked Calleigh out to dinner.

Calleigh Duquense. It was a name that was burnt into his mind by now. He had noticed her the moment he had laid eyes on her when she was standing on the doorstep, eyes wide at seeing him. The woman was a mass of contradictions. Petite, but curvy. Sweet, but blunt. Beautiful, but...well, there really was nothing to compare to that. Just as there had been a wicked pleasure in reading the King novel, there had been a wicked pleasure in watching her in the dim candlelit restaurant. To see her smile, to hear her laugh, to feel her touch. If she was to be believed, they had never really been friends. But it was easy to be attracted to her.

He leaned back on the bed, stretched out his legs, and directed his eyes to the plain ceiling. But he never saw it. He was too busy thinking of that blonde hair.

* * *

It was becoming somewhat of a ritual for them.

She would show up, sometime after the dinner hour, but never too late, dressed casually, waiting for him to open the door.He would step aside so that she could walk in, go over to the couch, and sit down. He would join her, and drink a scotch and soda while she was there. They only had two subjects that they ever talked about: the Jackson Memorial case, and Tim Speedle.

Calleigh had confessed to him about the night that Tim had taken her out, and he had been surprised at the sour taste in the back of his throat over the news. Just a twinge of jealousy, nothing more than that. It never did come back, and he never did figure out whether his jealousy was over the fact that Speedle had turned to Calleigh more than anyone, or if it was over the fact that Calleigh had gone out to dinner with Speedle, but never once with Horatio, unless they were part of a group. He hadn't thought about it since the few days before, when she had first mentioned their dinner. But it came back with her latest news.

"He asked me out again," she said softly, pulling at the long sleeves of her shirt. "He called me about two hours ago, said he wouldn't take no for an answer. He wants to learn more about himself, but I told him, I'm not the person he wants to talk to."

"You think he's using that as an excuse."

She nodded, shifting on the couch. "I think so. I've told him, time and time again, to talk to Eric, that he knew him better, but he just won't. I don't know why, but the two of them haven't spoken since he took him to see his motorcycle." She smiled slightly. "I know this is beginning to sound like a broken record, but I don't know what to do. Alexx doesn't have any advice for me, the psychiatrist doesn't have anything but vague suggestions that you could take either way. I'd like your opinion."

He glanced at her as he reached for his glass. "My opinion is that he's attracted to you. He's acting on it."

"Well, he's awfully smooth about it. I've never actually seen him like this before. Oh, I know there was that case he worked alone, the one where he acted interested in the female suspect, but that was just an act. I can't tell anymore whether he's acting or not. It's like knowing someone your entire life, and them meeting them for the first time. Doesn't make sense, does it?"

He chanced another look at her. "Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't. It does in this case." He sighed. "I can't bring myself to call him Speed anymore. He's Tim. We never knew Tim before. We knew Speed."

"His parents call him Timothy. So, there are three different versions of the same man, and only know one. It just happens to be the one that he's not." Her eyes slid closed as she leaned into the couch, the side of her head resting against the back cushion. "It would be so much easier if he would just remember everything. I've entertained the most wild thoughts of pulling my gun on him and wondering if that would do anything. Don't look at me like that, Horatio, you know that I never would. It was just a thought."

His head moved in a nod, red hair catching the dim light. "I know. Trust me, I know. I've thought about something similar. Taking him to the lab, and then out to the building where the jewelry store was. Maybe if he saw the area where he was shot, it would make something spark in his mind. But I don't want to make him regress further than he already is. I won't take that chance."

"Have you...have you thought about what happens if he doesn't remember anything? Because he hasn't shown the slightest interest in what he used to do. It's like he couldn't care less about his job. He's rather talk about his hospital stay than bring that subject up."

"I don't want to think of that," he answered her smoothly. "Calleigh, there is that possibility, I know. But I just can't think of Tim like that. I'll always see him the way he was in the lab, when he was examining a piece of evidence."

"The look in his eyes, that frown of concentration on his face. I remember it well," she finished for him, smiling despite her closed eyes. "I'm starting to lose hope. I believed that this loss of memory thing was just a bump in the road. This is more like a mountain. Mohammed certainly isn't going anywhere near it, and if we bring the mountain to him, it could make things worse. We're at a standstill. There's nothing that we can do."

His voice lowered to a whisper when he heard her frantic words. "I know you cry over him, Calleigh." That caused her eyes to open. "You never did when we buried him, and I don't know about what happened when you left and went home, but I know that you cry for him now. I think we all do."

"Even you?" she murmured, looking at him. Now he was the one that closed his eyes.

"Even me." They both left it at that, choosing instead to sit in companionable silence.

They had finally exhausted their subject of Tim Speedle.


	9. Chapter Nine

Title- Gain Control Again

Authors- Dame Flame and pepsicolagurl

Rating- PG13 for now.

Disclaimer- See Chapter One. It got two thumbs up (we're guessing, we haven't heard back from Ebert and Roeper yet).

Author's Notes- Oi. That's all we've got to say. We should have named this "The Jackson Memorial Saga." That and, enjoy and let us know what you think!

**Kuroi Neko-kun**- **(and every else) **Again, we apologize for the use of notes like this, but we still can't see the damned email things on this site. But hey, on the bright side, pepsicolagurl got her speakers working for her computer again. How long will it take to regain his memory? Without giving too much away, let's just say that the next few chapters are going to be interesting. This isn't going to be an epic length story, but remember, it doesn't end when he remembers his previous life. There's always that pesky thing called "aftermath". And yes, it's official, we're already working on the companion piece to this. sigh It never ends.

Spoilers- From...yeah, we all know by now. Just call it the whole series from now on.

* * *

Gain Control Again  
Chapter Nine

_And like a lighthouse you must stand alone  
Landmark a safe journey's end  
No matter what sea I've been sailing on  
I'll always come back home again_

_Out on the road that lies before me  
There are some turns where I will spin  
I only hope that you can hold me now  
'Til I gain control again_

* * *

He waited until the sun set before he went out to water her small front garden. He had been informed, the first day that she had asked him to water her flowers, that he was never to water when the sun was up, for fear of burning her plants. He didn't mind doing it after sunset. Mary was inside, eating dinner at this time, and he had already raced through his, something that he found interesting. He wondered if he always ate that fast, or if it was something that had just developed recently. It was a thought that he had frequently.

Readjusting the spray on the nozzle, he directed the water towards the last corner, watching the purple flowers tremble under the weight of the water. Even he had to admit that his flashes of voices, although it was usually his own, had been coming more and more frequently. There were times that he would touch a glass and get the strangest image of it being grimy with some sort of black dust. Mary was a devout watcher of _Law and Order_, and he had no problem figuring out that it had been fingerprint powder that he had been thinking of. He also knew it was next to impossible to get it out of someone's clothes. And then there had been that strange dream last night, the one that he could barely remember, but one that he knew had to do with his previous life.

He sighed as he turned off the hose and recoiled it, putting it back on its holder on the side of the house, before going back in through the kitchen entrance. He stopped long enough to wash his hands, and picked up a tea towel, drying them as he walked into the living room. "Mary? Are you-" He stopped short when he saw her head turned away from him, her eyes closed. He smiled when he realized that she had fallen asleep, after eating only half of the dinner he had made for her. Moving the tray out of the way, he turned down the television and went to pick up her plate, when he noticed how pale she was. It seemed like every bit of makeup she had put on that morning had faded away. "Mary?" he asked, a little louder.

When she didn't respond, he crouched down next to her and touched her hand. Still nothing. He moved quickly, opening up the doors of the end table next to her chair, and sighed when he saw the small pile of white pills. "Why do you do this?" he asked softly, before reaching for the phone. He gave the information to the 911 dispatcher, covering her with a blanket at the same time. There had been a few times that he had caught her not taking her pills, which were meant to keep her blood sugar at a certain level. It had been the reason that she had in the hospital when they had first met. He didn't know if it was stubbornness or just forgetfulness, but he had tried to keep an eye on her in the mornings and in the evening, when she was supposed to take them. Obviously, he thought to himself as he replaced the phone, he didn't do a good enough job.

It was a long fifteen minutes until the ambulance pulled up. He directed the paramedics to the living room and stood back, silent, watching as they strapped her onto a stretcher and took her out. When he was told what hospital they would most likely be taking her to, he nodded and closed the door after them, going immediately into Mary's room to pack her a bag with all of the things that she wouldn't be able to go without. With that done, he went back into the living room and dug out the pills she hadn't taken, dumping them on the table and counting them up. She hadn't taken them for almost five days. That was pretty serious.

He knew that even if he left now, he wouldn't be able to see her for awhile. Instead, he decided to clean up, scraping off both of their plates and washing up the dishes they had used throughout the day. That and a quick clean of the counters ate up twenty minutes. That was more than enough time. Besides, he couldn't wait any longer. He called for a taxi and took her things with him out onto the porch, waiting for the car to pull up.

When it did, he climbed in and gave him the name of the hospital, suppressing a shudder at the thought of going back to Jackson Memorial.

* * *

Ryan leaned back in his chair and regarded everything in the layout room. The medical files, although an interesting read, didn't give them much information on who could have made the numerous amount of mistakes. The count of victims had gone from four (including Speedle), to six, thanks to a few long distance calls from concerned families. They had positively identified two (again, including Speedle), and now, they had hit a brick wall. Part of that wall was built by the doctors and nurses at Jackson Memorial. They couldn't or wouldn't discuss their patients, and still weren't much help.

He looked up when the door opened, and Calleigh walked in, her hands blissfully free of any more files for him to look through. "You busy?" she asked, looking over his shoulder at the legal pad that he had been writing on.

"Frustrated, but not busy," he offered. "I was going over the victimology again, to see if we missed anything. I don't think that night shift is too pleased with me taking over the room, but they can deal with it. What have you been up to?"

"Making so many phone calls that my poor ears will never recover. I think that I may have come up with a lead, but since we're working together on this, I wanted to run it past you first." He appreciated the gesture, especially since she had more experience than he did at the job. It was never far from his mind that he was still the new kid on the block, working with people that had been around that block a few times. "I was thinking about one of the victims in particular. Sandra Kinsey."

She waited as he rifled through the pages of the notes, ending on one. "Eighty-five year old woman, ended up at Jackson Memorial because of a fall at home. What about her?"

Calleigh smiled. "I got off the phone with the paramedics that took her in. It only took awhile to track them down. Apparently, she was quite the little spitfire. They remember her pretty well, because of her insisting that while there might be something wrong with her hip, there was nothing wrong with her mind, and that they were being awfully condescending to her." She shook her head. "Her medical file was never accessed at the hospital, as far as we can tell, but that doesn't mean much. But it gave me an idea."

"You're not thinking..."

"I am. Look, all the hospitals in Miami have the phone numbers for all the state-funded extended care homes. Let's just say, for the moment, that she broke her hip. The paramedics were pretty sure of that. There would be no reason for her to stay in the hospital the entire time that it would take for her hip to heal."

Ryan nodded. "It would cost too much to keep her there, and hospitals always have a close eye on the budgets and overheads. Besides, with a hospital as busy as Jackson Memorial, they never have enough beds for all their patients. I was there earlier today, and there must have been ten people parked in the hallways, and that was just near the emergency room. Sandra Kinsey doesn't have any family out here, she's a retiree."

Her nod matched his. "Exactly. I have a list of state-funded homes that they could have sent her to. If she was sent to one, an ambulance didn't take her. They have no records of taking someone from a hospital to a home. I find it a little hard to believe that they would just send her off in a taxi."

"You have too much faith in people," he countered. "I know it seems pointless to start calling the places tonight. It's almost-" he paused the check his watch. "Well, it's late. But I'll start in on the list, see what I can dig up. Even if we do find her, there's nothing that we'll be able to do until tomorrow morning. There's one bright side to this." She tilted her head in question. "If her mind is as good as she claimed it is, she should have no problem remembering what the doctors and nurses looked like. She may be able to identify them for us."

"Great minds think alike," she told him. "We can divide the list, and get to work."

He shook his head and stretched. "No, like you said, you've been on the phone for most of the day. I can handle this."

Calleigh was about to protest when his face flushed with embarrassment, due to the protesting sound from his stomach. "Make you a deal. I'll go find something for us to eat, and you get started on that list. When I get back, I'll help you." He smiled his thanks as she left, and reached for the phone.

* * *

It was almost eleven at night when she finally let herself into her apartment. The overtime had been worth it, however, because between her and Ryan, they had found four women that matched the description of Sandra Kinsey. They made plans to head to the state-funded homes first thing in the morning, when they went back to work. She kicked off her shoes with a sigh and made her way through her dark apartment, only bothering to turn on the light in the hood over her stove as she dug in the fridge for a bottle of water.

The ringing phone caught her off guard, and she grinned good-naturedly at her surprise before reaching for it. "Hello?"

"Calleigh? It's me," a familiar voice said. "I'm sorry to bother you so late, but..."

She cradled the phone against her shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Tim. I just got home." She paused. "Where are you? Unless Mary turned up the television again, you sound like you're at a party."

"The hospital, actually. Jackson Memorial."

She felt the dread hit her much as a cold wave would have. "Oh, God, are you okay? Did something happen?"

"I'm fine," he told her with a chuckle. There was no humor in it. "Mary's here, though. Diabetic shock. She wasn't taking her pills, and I didn't know. She's still hasn't regained consciousness. They're not sure that she will," he added. His voice was so soft, so low. She heard the emotion in his words, and closed her eyes. "I'm going to stay here with her. I just wanted to let you know, in case you tried to get ahold of me."

"Would you like me to come down there? I can be out the door in five minutes." Just long enough to change her clothes and wash her face, she thought to herself. "Tim? Are you still there?"

It took him awhile to answer her. "Yeah, I'm still here. Would you...would you mind coming? I'd like it if you would."

"Of course. I'll be right there. I'll meet you in the waiting room at emergency."

"Please hurry."

And hurry she did. She exchanged the blazer she was wearing for a windbreaker and put her feet in a pair of sandals, not bothering to put on the shoes she had worn to work. She unclipped her badge as she headed for the door and threw it on the couch, taking her purse and keys in one hand, bottle of water in the other. She didn't bother with the elevator, but instead, ran down the stairs and out to her jeep, starting the engine and pulling out in a hurry.

It couldn't be easy for him, she reasoned as she started towards the hospital. Not only the fact that the only person who didn't pressure him to be anyone but who he wanted to be was in the hospital, but the fact that it was the same hospital that had created this whole mess. There was irony in that situation, and it was something that she didn't particularly want to dwell on.

Instead, she got ready to spend a sleepless night before heading back to work in the morning.


	10. Chapter Ten

Title- Gain Control Again

Authors- Dame Flame and pepsicolagurl

Rating- PG13.

Disclaimer- See Chapter One. It's a personal favorite.

Author's Notes- We're heading into the home stretch of this story. It's our tenth chapter. We're going to throw a party. Anyone want to bring the dip? And how many chapters are left? Well, if you all would stop asking us questions about stuff we never wrote...nah, just kidding. You all are the ones that are making the story better from our original version. But again, who's bringing the dip? And if you're wondering, we're conveniently leaving out the part about Speedle's best friend dying, because some things just sound a little cliche. That's another fic for another time. And remember, non-'shipper story. Don't blame us for what happened at the end of this chapter. We weren't in control. It wrote itself. Enjoy and let us know what you think.

**Nonnie**- (from pepsicolagurl) You know, I don't know the deal about making Tim rich. I guess the idea that his dad owns a chain of restaurants (yes, we actually read the CBS bio on him. Shame on us for doing our research) kind of brings that to mind, but the reason that we chose that backstory for him is because, in a way, it makes the character a little more complex. Here's this guy who works his ass off every day to put people behind bars, to protect the innocent...whatever warm and fuzzy thought you want to put in there, and in reality, he could be sitting on his ass doing nothing, or riding his motorcycle about town...well, that and neither of us are exactly rolling in the dough (hello, movie theater employee. Would you like some fake butter on your popcorn?), so it's always fun to write rich people. The backstory comes into play in this story, and the sequel that we've started writing. You should get more answers than from this little thing.

Spoilers- We know, we know. If you've gotten this far into the story, you're well-versed in this. We promise to stop.

* * *

Gain Control Again  
Chapter Ten

_And like a lighthouse you must stand alone  
__Landmark a safe journey's end  
__No matter what sea I've been sailing on  
__I'll always come back home again_

_Out on the road that lies before me  
__There are some turns where I will spin  
__I only hope that you can hold me now  
__'Til I gain control again_

* * *

It hadn't been a completely sleepless night. She had managed to catch a few hours in the waiting room, despite the ever present noise. She had woken up, curled uncomfortably in the chair, with Speedle's jacket tucked around her. He had been sitting next to her, a cup of cold coffee by his side, eyes puffy from lack of sleep. They still hadn't had an available bed for Mary, and she still hadn't woken up.

She left him only after he promised to call her cell phone if anything happened while she was at work. She made a quick stop at home to shower and change her clothes, before showing up at the lab with five minutes to spare, her long hair still damp. She breezed into the break room, and poured herself a cup of coffee, spying the figure in the corner. "Morning, Ryan."

"You know, most people look better after they get some sleep. You just look even more exhausted."

She sighed. "I was at the hospital all night. Tim's Mary is back in there, with low blood sugar. They're still trying to wake her up." She shook her head, as if to remove the thought from her mind, and chanced a smile at him. "So, after this cup of coffee, are you ready to go find our missing woman?"

The young man frowned, and started to reach out a hand to lay on her arm, but thought twice about it. They had worked together for awhile, but not long enough. He didn't get the same exemption from personal touching like Eric Delko and Horatio Caine did. "You know, if you'd rather go back to the hospital and stay with...Detective Speedle, that's fine. I'm sure that I can handle this."

A smile appeared on her face at his words, but it didn't look right with the dark circles under her reddened eyes. "I'm sure that you can, Ryan, but Horatio assigned both of us to work on the victims side of the case. That means you and me. Besides, I'm fine. Nothing that a few cups of coffee throughout the day won't cure." The smile remained, a touch brighter this time. "Besides, this feels like the home stretch of the case. There's nothing like the high you get when you solve something like this. Give me ten minutes, and I'll meet you out in the garage."

"You sure?" he asked.

"I'm sure."

* * *

He yawned, and brought a hand up to rub his eyes, barely recognizing the now blurry form of a doctor. "Mr. Speedle?" he heard. He was getting used to the name, and his head popped up almost immediately.

"Right here," he said with a bit of a wave. The doctor came over to him, and then took the seat beside him, the same one that Calleigh had occupied the night before. "So, have you moved her yet, or am I going to be stuck in the waiting room for the rest of my natural life?" He realized, a little late, how harsh his words sounded. "Sorry," he offered.

The doctor didn't bother to comment. "You're not a family member of Mrs. Stevens, are you?"

Speedle shook his head. "No, I'm not. I just...take care of her. Look, as far as I know, Mary doesn't have any family. Her husband died quite a few years ago, and as for her son, I don't have a clue whether he's alive or dead, but if he is breathing, the jerk never bothered even calling her. I'm the closest thing she has to family right now." And that much was true, he knew that. No one, outside of a few concerned neighbors, came over to see her or telephoned her. That's why it didn't seem so surprising that she had asked him to live with her. She was lonely.

"Look, I'm not supposed to tell you this-"

"For Christ's sake, someone has to know. If something serious happened, who the hell do you think would be making the decisions? I live with her. I see her every day. She trusts me."

The doctor blinked a few times, surprised at the outburst. "If you would let me finish, I was going to tell you that I have no choice but to inform you about what's going on. You have to understand, Mr. Speedle, there are no decisions to be made regarding Mrs. Stevens. She has a living will, and we have to abide by the rules set out by it."

Speedle frowned, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean? Diabetes is controllable. It's not like you need a living will for that."

"Cancer, unfortunately, isn't controllable. At least, not the cancer that Mrs. Stevens was diagnosed with earlier this year. She's known for almost nine months that it was terminal. There's absolutely nothing that we can do for her. She never told you?" He could only shake his head in response. "The initial assessment was right, she had been in a diabetic coma, but her body is shutting down on her. She's giving up. Unfortunately, there's nothing that we can do to keep her going."

_(grandma isn't here anymore, timothy)_

_(where did she go)_

_(she died. when someone lived for a very long time, they die. don't you remember when patches went away and didn't come back. that's just like grandma)_

_(but...i liked grandma)_

"Can I at least see her? Stay with her?" he rasped.

The doctor nodded his consent. "Of course. There was a very brief time last night when she regained consciousness. The nurse said that she was asking for 'Tim'. That's you, right?"

"She didn't ask for Marshall?" He received a shake of the head and directions to the trauma room that they had left her in. His mind was swimming, bouncing between the past and the present, as he staggered his way into the room, spying the chair that a nurse had left next to the bed. He knew that if she was asking for him as Tim, she knew that she wasn't going to leave the hospital. He sank down into the chair and reached forward, resting his hand against hers. She didn't move.

He was determined to stay with her to the end, but he knew from the look on the doctor's face that it wouldn't be long. His eyes moved to the machines beside her, noting the numbers that stood for her pulse and blood oxygen levels with a clinical coldness. Neither of the numbers were too encouraging. "I don't know what to say, Mary," he told her quietly, looking back at her face. She looked older, more vulnerable than when they had first met. "I never got to say goodbye to grandmother on my father's side. I liked her. You reminded me of her." He didn't know where that information came from, but he knew that somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, he had brought back a memory of him at a very young age.

The numbers on the machines changed. They dropped a little more.

_(timothy, you're fourteen. she's your grandmother. the least you can do is stay with her for a little while. talk with her)_

_(why, because you can't be bothered, mom? she doesn't know who i am. she just keeps babbling)_

_(she's my mother. don't you dare talk about her like that. if you talk about her like that, i can only imagine how you talk about me)_

_(you wouldn't want to know)_

He cleared his throat at the new memory, remembering the day a little too well. If he remembered correctly, and he was sure that he did, it was the same day that his mother had slapped him because he had said something inappropriate. It had been the beginnings of teenager rebellion, but he would never forget the look on her face afterwards, the tears in her shocked eyes as she realized that she had just hit her son. And he had gone in to see his grandmother on his mother's side, but he hadn't enjoyed it. She kept confusing him for other people, never figuring out just who he was, and making him uncomfortable. It hadn't been long after that day that she had died. He had been almost happy that he was able to wash his hands of the visits to her. Afterwards, he had been sickened by his response.

Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on Mary's forehead. It was a gesture that he had never been able to offer either of his grandmothers.

* * *

She saw him in front of her apartment building before he saw her. "Tim?" she asked hesitantly, looking at the stooped figure. He turned to face her, and her eyes automatically dropped down to the burning cigarette between his fingers. "You don't smoke," she told him, frowning.

"Well, today's as good a day as any to start," he countered, using his thumb to flick away the ash. He looked awfully practiced at the movement. She knew, from the past few years that she worked with him, that he hadn't smoked in that time period, but she knew nothing about what he had done before that. "Aren't you going to ask why I'm here? What I did today?"

Something told Calleigh not to bring it up. She tried to change the subject instead. "Well, on the good news front, we have a break in the case. We think we've identified a medical student that seems to be involved in a number of the cases. There's nothing we can do until tomorrow, though, so we've-"

"I don't give a shit about the case, Calleigh," he told her roughly, taking a last drag on the cigarette before throwing the butt away with a flick on his wrist. "I don't give a shit about any missing people. I don't give a shit about medical students, and I really don't give a shit about hospitals. Do you think that about covers it?"

She was put off with the tone, not the words, that he used, until she noticed his reddened eyes. She finally understood that they weren't that color because of lack of sleep. "Mary?" she asked softly.

"About three hours ago. Long enough for me to pick up the habit again." He smirked. "She had cancer. Never thought to tell me, though. I don't blame her. She just wanted someone to talk to, until she died. At least I managed to give her that much."

Sighing, she bowed her head. "Tim, I'm so sorry-"

"Don't tell me how sorry you are, okay? You don't know me," he rasped to her. "I don't want to talk about it."

Her head snapped back up, quick enough to see a sudden shine of tears in his eyes before he blinked them away. "All right. I won't ask you anything about it, then," she answered him, her voice taking on a softer tone. She was being cautious, and she couldn't help but think it was the same tone of voice that she used whenever she spoke to victims. He was a victim, no matter how much he didn't want to admit it.

He laughed now. "Don't give me that 'I understand' bullshit, either. I don't want to hear it, Calleigh. Let me make the decisions for once. I'm not going to let you push me to do anything I don't want to, whether it's bring up whatever memories of my life that I have, or if it's..." He stopped, unable to say her name. "I'm making the decisions," he repeated, before reaching for her. She was too surprised, at first, to register her surprise at being grabbed by the upper arms and pulled towards him, his lips landing on hers roughly.

She moved her hands until they were laying flat against his chest and gave him that hardest shove she could. "What the hell is your problem?" she yelled, glaring at him. "I understand that you're not having the best day, but that doesn't give you the right-"

"Yeah, I don't want to talk about that, either."

He turned and began to walk away.

She did nothing to stop him.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Title- Gain Control Again

Authors- Dame Flame and pepsicolagurl

Rating- Yup, you guessed it. PG13.

Disclaimer- See Chapter One. The Cliff's Notes version? Don't sue us. That about covers it.

Author Notes- Sorry about the lack of updates. Suffice to say, a snowstorm, followed by a rainstorm and flooding, followed by work, kind of made us put this on hold for a moment. But, hey, we're back. Be scared. Enjoy and let us know what you think.

* * *

Gain Control Again  
Chapter Eleven

_And like a lighthouse you must stand alone  
__Landmark a safe journey's end  
__No matter what sea I've been sailing on  
__I'll always come back home again_

_Out on the road that lies before me  
__There are some turns where I will spin  
__I only hope that you can hold me now  
__'Til I gain control again_

* * *

With her fist, she pounded on the door again. She knew he was home, his vehicle was in the driveway. "Just answer the damned door, Horatio," she muttered under her breath, choosing to hit it again rather than kick it. To her surprise, the door did open. Horatio stood gaping at her, wearing (in her opinion) an awfully casual outfit of dark blue pants and a plain black tee shirt, rubbing his still damp hair with a towel. "It took you long enough to answer." She glanced at the towel that he gestured to. "Oh, don't give me that 'look at the evidence' bull. We're in trouble. Or Tim is. I haven't decided yet."

"You're running off at the mouth today, aren't you?" he questioned, closing the door as she entered the foyer. "What's happened?" he asked in a more serious tone, when he saw the look on her face.

"Tim's run off to God knows where. He was at my place, and I know he's not at Mary's, and...I'm not making much sense right now," she sighed, bringing a hand up to rub her forehead. "The short version is that Mary died this afternoon. Terminal cancer. I think that, somehow, it brought back some sort of memory, because he had a freak-out that was larger than a volcano exploding. He said some things that I don't care to rehash, and then he just took off. I don't know where he is, but I'm worried."

He stopped rubbing the back of his head with the towel and gestured for her to go into the living room. She dutifully took off her shoes and walked in, taking her habitual seat on the couch. He joined her. "Calleigh, you have to understand that there's nothing we can do about this." She gave him a doubtful look. "If you don't know where he is, none of us would. You're the person that he's closest to at the moment, and he already severed that tie."

"Well, the least we could do is look around a little, see if we can spot him," she told him incredulously.

"We wouldn't know where to begin. I know that you don't like the idea of this, and I'm not crazy about it, either, but Miami is a big city. He could be anywhere by now. He may not have a vehicle, but he can easily get a taxi or get on a bus. He's upset, he's irrational, but he's not a wayward child that we can bring home. There is nothing that we can do." He reached out a hand towards her to rest on her arm, but when she felt the contact, she jerked her arm away.

Her eyes were wide as she regarded him. "I knew I was wrong in coming here. He may not be a child's age, but he sure acts like he's a child. We don't know what's happening to him out there. Like you said, Miami is a big city, but it's also a dangerous one. What if he gets into some kind of trouble? He doesn't remember anything about his training to help himself." She shook her head and made to stand up. Horatio took ahold of her and pulled her back onto the couch. "Let me go. I have to go do something."

"You have to let him get through this on his own. Whatever we were doing before, it isn't helping him." He sighed and bit back a few choice comments when he saw the stubborn look in her eyes. "Calleigh, there is absolutely nothing that we can do for him. The only person that can help Tim is Tim."

"Thanks for the Yoda moment, but it wasn't what I was looking for. I was looking for support, or maybe help, or..." She ran out of steam then, and leaned back on the couch, closing her eyes. Her hand came up to rub her forehead, as if a sudden headache had just attacked her. "You're right. I know you're right, but I don't want you to be. I just wanted to help him."

He put his towel down finally, and turned towards her. "That's what everyone wanted to do, but if he doesn't want help, there's nothing we can do. It's just like trying to convince someone to give up an addiction. Only there is no twelve step program for amnesiacs."

She frowned, her eyes opened slowly. "Sometimes, and I can't believe I'm going to say this, Horatio, but sometimes, I wish that Tim had just stayed dead. It would have made everything so much easier."

* * *

Calleigh had been wrong. He did go back to Mary's house, but he had ignored the ringing of the phone and walked right past it into the guest room that he had claimed as his own. He didn't bother to turn on any lights as he went further into the room, looking around wildly, although he knew that he wasn't searching for anything. Instead, he went towards a corner of the room and pressed his back against the wall, sliding down until his knees were drawn up against his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He had a nagging feeling that he had done the same thing when he was a child, and his favorite grandmother had died.

Very slowly, he rested his forehead on his knees, closing his eyes when he felt an onslaught of tears. He took a deep, shaky breath, but couldn't hold back. The first tears made its path down his cheek, landing on his jeans and leaving a small dark mark. As soon as the first one hit, the rest came fast and furious, his shoulders shaking.

Although he couldn't remember much, he never remembered feeling this lonely before in his life. He had not only lost the one person that let him be whoever he wanted, but he had pushed away the one person that was trying to help him. He barely knew his family, and as for the rest of the people he knew in Miami...well, he didn't bother with them. There was just him now. And he wasn't even sure who he was.

He refused to give in fully to the tears, however. There was some part of him that screamed that he wasn't the type to just sit down and cry over something. His entire body shuddered with unreleased sobs, and he tightened his arms around his legs, refusing to give in to them. He wouldn't do it. There was just no way in hell he was going to allow himself to break down that far.

He didn't have the slightest clue how long he had sat there, crying for God knows what, but when he had calmed down, he had noticed that the knees of his jeans were almost completely soaked, and the cuffs of his long sleeved shirt were damp from wiping the lingering wetness off of his face. He took a shaky breath and raised his head, looking at the dark room with watery eyes. Standing up, he stumbled for a moment before he made his way over to the bureau, picking out a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt without a second glance, getting rid of the clothes he was wearing. He put on the new clothes and walked into the bathroom, washing the lingering tears off of his face.

Speedle didn't have a clue of what to do next. He knew that he should eat something; he hadn't had anything in his stomach since he had been forced to eat something in the hospital at three in the morning. But he was feeling nauseous from his cry, and he didn't want to have to run back into the bathroom just to throw everything up. He wanted nothing more than to get drunk and just forget about what had happened that day, but Mary didn't keep alcohol in the house, and he had never brought any in himself. He was pretty sure that he hadn't been much of a drinker to begin with. The simplest thing to do would be to lay down and go to sleep, but he wasn't tired. Although he had only slept for a few fitful hours the night before, he wasn't the least bit tired anymore.

With a deep sigh, he went back into his bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed. His eyes landed on the thick book on the night table, but he knew that there was no way that he would be able to concentrate on something like that. His hand reached out for the telephone, not even thinking as he dialed Calleigh's number, hoping to hell that he wasn't going to be waking her up. He was pretty sure that all the phone calls that had came earlier had been from her. No one picked up at her house, however.

Making a face, he reached for his wallet and dug through it, finding the slip of paper that had another phone number written on it. He bit his lip, chewing on it for a moment, before sighing and dialing that number, waiting to see if someone was going to pick up. He wasn't surprised when a somewhat familiar voice greeted him. "Uh, hi," he said in return.

"Hi," Horatio returned, waiting for him to say something else.

Speedle sighed, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "I was...wondering if you knew where Calleigh was. I was...worried about her," he said softly, biting on his lip again. If he kept this up, he was going to draw blood before long.

"She's worried about you, too. She's here. Fell asleep on the couch."

"Oh." He was silent for awhile, digging his toe into the carpet, watching his own movements. "I was thinking that maybe I should talk to that psychiatrist, you know. Calleigh keeps telling me to, but I wasn't...wasn't sure. But I think I should. I don't have his number, though."

"I have it here."

He nodded. "Yeah, but...look, could you make the appointment for me. I don't feel up to it. Just...let me know when I'm supposed to be there, okay?" He hesitated for a moment and then put the phone back down gently, sighing before pulling back the covers and climbing into bed, looking up at the ceiling.

He knew he would fall asleep eventually.


	12. Epilogue

Title- Gain Control Again

Authors- Dame Flame and pepsicolagurl

Rating- PG13. 'Cause the language is bad, but nothing you haven't heard before.

Disclaimer- Let's say it together, now. Chapter One. There'll be a pop quiz later. Make sure your number two pencils are nice and sharp.

Author's Notes- Enjoy and let us know what you think. This is the last part of this story, and the sequel will follow. Thanks to everyone that reviewed (we really appreciated it), and we hope that you're there for the next time around. And if you have any questions for us about this story, before the sequel comes about, email either one of us (pepsicolagurl's email can be found under the pen name...well, pepsicolagurl).

Spoilers- Everything. Specifically Lost Son and the rest of season three.

* * *

Gain Control Again  
Epilogue

_And like a lighthouse you must stand alone  
__Landmark a safe journey's end  
__No matter what sea I've been sailing on  
__I'll always come back home again_

_Out on the road that lies before me  
__There are some turns where I will spin  
__I only hope that you can hold me now  
__'Til I gain control again_

* * *

The last few weeks had been nothing but improvement in his life. Very slowly, he had started to piece together a life for himself. He had sold his old motorcycle, not wanting to get anywhere near the damned thing, let alone climb on and take off somewhere. He thought that maybe, one day, when he remembered everything, he might get another, but now wasn't the time. Instead, with the money that he had received from the sale, and the money that his parents had graciously given him, he bought himself a small car, knowing that it would be good enough for the moment. He had gone in for another driver's license and passed not only the written but the road test with flying colors. There were just some things that you didn't forget.

After speaking with the lawyer that was in charge of Mary's estate, he had purchased the house although most of her things were taken out of it. He had finally found out that while she liked to speak of his son when she had been alive, her son Marshall had died awhile back, and her will left everything to charity and other various family members that had never taken the time out to see her. They had allowed him to go through her things and pick out what he wanted to keep from the house, and they had gotten rid of the rest. He still slept in the guest bedroom, however. That hadn't changed.

Every now and then, he had flashes of his previous life, but never enough to really give him any sort of clue. His work with the psychiatrist has helped him somewhat. After the first session, he had been put on an anti-depressant to help counteract his radical mood swings, although the doctor had to admit that once his memories came back, there was a ninety percent chance that he could be slowly taken off of them. Although he didn't like the idea of discussing his life with a stranger, he knew that it was helping, and they had even talked about being put under hypnosis soon, to see if that would help bring back his memories. He had likened himself to a rape victim, although it wasn't his dignity that was taken away from him because of one damned moment, it was his life that was taken.

And he had finally cleared things up with Calleigh, apologizing for what had happened the day that Mary had passed away. After that, it was like nothing had ever happened. She still tried to help him recover his memories, and because he had asked, she had loaned him numerous copies of forensics magazines and books, which he devoured quickly, wanting to learn everything he could about what he used to do.

The press had died down, as well. When the first story broke, it was like everyone from every major news organization had descended upon Miami. Not only because of him, but because of the case. Calleigh and Ryan had made quick work of it, once they had questioned their suspects at the state funded home. Their witness had directed the focus of the investigation towards two medical students, and an actual doctor, all of whom had pulled similar stunts without knowing about the others doing the same. The members of the press left soon after that, when they realized that they weren't about to get their exclusive from Tim Speedle. His lips were sealed when it came to what happened.

He knew he would never truly be the Tim Speedle that everyone knew. Too much had happened to him since he had been that person. But they had come to accept the fact that who he was now was just as good as who he had been before. He had finally taken up the offer of being shown around the crime lab, and although he had a few flashes of recognition, he couldn't be sure that he really remembered the place as well as he should have. He had Eric Delko had gone out together a few times to a sports bar, what they called neutral ground, and were beginning to build their friendship back up. Alexx had invited him over for dinner a few times, and he had spent time with her children, remembering the day that he had helped put the swingset in the back yard together with her husband. He had regular meetings with Horatio about the progress that he was making with the psychiatrist. He had even gone out with Ryan Wolfe a few times, even though he had never known the man before.

Things were beginning to get better for him, but everyone knew that he had to regain his memories before everything could be considered normal again. But that was okay, he had come to accept that. It wasn't the end of the world, not remembering everything. But he would remember eventually, he knew that for sure.

He still kept Mary's garden alive. It had become something of a hobby to him, and he had even expanded it since her death, making it a little larger and a little brighter. He didn't exactly have a green thumb, but nothing had died since he had planted anything new. He still read anything he could get his hands on, and most of the time, he ignored the television set in the living room. He had a feeling that he never watched that much to begin with. He cooked almost every night, even if it was usually just for himself. The only thing he hadn't done was taken up Calleigh's offer to take him out to a shooting gallery, so that when he did eventually get back to work, he would re-qualify with a weapon. He just wasn't ready to have a gun in his hand.

And the truth was, he liked who he had become. It was a strange thought, he knew that, but it was also true. He liked the Tim Speedle that he had become, and he was beginning to like the Tim Speedle that he used to be. It was somewhat of a relief, and something that made his psychiatrist happy to hear.

Yeah, things weren't so bad, and he had a feeling that they were only going to get better.


End file.
